


Leverage

by dreamsofspike



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-11
Updated: 2011-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-23 15:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 77,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately post-"Words and Deeds". House has taken up a new vice. Wilson takes it personally.<br/>Thus begins a very complicated dom/sub relationship between the two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leverage

_“The apology… you didn’t need to do that to make this work.”_

 _“Believe what you want.”_

House’s flippant, vaguely mocking words echoed in Wilson’s mind as he made his way up the sidewalk toward House’s apartment. He had gone over the conversation in his head over and over, all afternoon, analyzing and re-analyzing every word, trying to figure out the motivations and underlying meanings behind House’s words and actions of the last few weeks.

 

It would be so much easier to do as House had suggested and believe what he wanted to believe about the apology. However, when it came to House, the problem with believing only what he wanted to believe was that none of the things he wanted to believe were actually true.

 

He wanted to believe that House was truly sorry for all the trouble he’d caused Wilson in the past few months. He wanted to believe that on some level, House really had wanted to try to break his addiction to the Vicodin, and actually give rehab a try.

 

But then – he’d wanted to believe that House would consider the possible consequences for his best friend before stealing his prescription pad and forging his signature – and he knew too well how _that_ had turned out.

 

He paused a moment outside House’s apartment, inexplicably hesitating before knocking on the door. He was really in no mood to hang out and celebrate House’s victory over the criminal justice system. He was genuinely relieved that House had escaped a prison sentence. Yet, at the same time, there was a certain amount of resentment when he thought of how House had managed to play them all.

 

And a certain amount of _anger_ that House had gone so far as to play _him_ , along with everyone else.

 

“It’s open,” House called from inside the apartment.

 

Wilson opened the door and stepped inside – and froze at the sight that met his eyes.

 

House stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the doorjamb – grinning at him around the lit cigarette he held between his fingers. He seemed quite pleased with himself, blue eyes sparkling with wicked mirth as he removed the cigarette and blew out a long, slow cloud of smoke. As he did, he held Wilson’s gaze, and Wilson slowly became aware of something else in those expressive eyes.

 

Mockery.

 

The cigarette was a deliberate jab at Wilson, the oncologist, throwing House’s unrepentant indiscretions in his face without remorse.

 

Wilson’s mind went back to a week earlier, when he had visited House in the rehab center to find him smoking a cigarette. It had startled him, as he had never known House to smoke before; but he had decided that for all the effort House was putting into quitting his drug habit, he deserved a little bit of leeway.

 

If smoking cigarettes helped keep his mind off the Vicodin, Wilson supposed it was worth it – as long as House was trying. After all, he could always quit later. After beating an addiction to one highly addictive narcotic he’d been taking for ten years, quitting the cigarettes he’d only been smoking for a short time should be easy enough.

 

But now, everything had changed.

 

Now, Wilson knew that House hadn’t been trying at all.

 

 _It was all a lie – an act. Rehab, the apology – all of it. And the cigarette – the cigarette was a secret joke for only House to get. A subtle slap in my face while he stood there and lied to me. The apology wasn’t necessary – and neither was the smoking. No, those two things, in particular, were just to screw with_ me _._

 

And with that realization – something inside Wilson just… snapped.

 

His eyes narrowed, and he started across the room toward House. His feet seemed to carry him of their own accord, without any conscious thought of what he was going to do when he got there.

 

House raised his eyebrows speculatively, giving Wilson an appraising up-and-down look as he lifted the cigarette to his lips again. Wilson stopped a bare foot in front of him, disgust in his eyes as he glanced at the cigarette, then glared at House accusingly.

 

House smirked around his cigarette, wide eyes feigning innocent bewilderment. He removed the cigarette to blow an obnoxious stream of smoke directly into Wilson’s face, before giving him a shrug of false confusion.

 

“Got a problem?” he demanded.

 

Wilson suppressed a wince at the smoke that wafted into his face, but kept his expression calm, neutral, as he replied, “No. Apparently _you_ do.”

 

“Me?” House let out a harsh bark of laughter as he raised the cigarette toward his mouth again. “Never been better. All this just proves once and for all that my ‘problem’ isn’t really a problem at all…”

 

His words broke off in surprise when Wilson abruptly grabbed him by the collar and yanked him out of the kitchen doorway, slamming him into the wall beside it instead. While House was still trying to process what had happened, Wilson plucked the cigarette from between House’s fingers, then grabbed his right wrist and jerked him forward, off balance.

 

“Shut up,” Wilson hissed, furious, leaning into House’s face, eyes blazing with anger. “You _are_ the problem, House! You don’t care about anyone or anything but yourself! All you care about is doing what you want, when you want to do it, and screw anybody who actually _cares_ about you enough to try to _help_ you!”

 

House instinctively tried to pull away, pressing his back against the wall in an attempt to steady himself and regain his balance. His defiant eyes were filled with silent laughter, daring Wilson to give full vent to the fury on his face – the fury he had just barely begun to express.

 

“Yeah?” he sneered softly. “And I suppose you’re referring to yourself, then? Funny how no one else seemed to think I needed your variety of ‘help’. Screw anyone who tried to help me, huh? It was kind of hard to think of it that way while I was sitting in the jail cell _you_ put me in.” He pretended to consider Wilson’s words for a moment with a pensive frown, before his face broke into a challenging smirk and he added, “So yeah, Wilson, I guess, you’re right. That _is_ how I feel about it. _Screw_. _You_.”

 

Wilson didn’t even know he was going to do it until it was already done.

 

Still holding House’s right wrist, Wilson took the confiscated cigarette and pressed it hard against the soft palm of House’s hand. House let out a yelp of surprised pain, struggling to pull his hand away, but Wilson just forced his hand into a fist around the smoldering embers and held it, refusing to allow him the relief he sought.

 

“You’ve said a lot worse to me before, House.” Wilson shrugged with a cold smile. “But smoking in front of me – knowing how I feel about that – that’s what’s _really_ insulting.”

 

House struggled to pull his hand away, but was unable to regain his balance enough to escape, as Wilson moved in closer, using his body to effectively pin him against the wall. When House tried to use his free hand to pry Wilson’s hand off of his captured, tortured fist, Wilson just caught his wrist and slammed his hand back against the wall beside his head.

 

House let out a guttural groan of pain, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the wall, gasping for breath, but no longer struggling. “Wilson,” he moaned, breathless with pain. “What the hell? Wilson, are you crazy? Stop…”

 

But Wilson wasn’t finished yet. He maintained his grip on House, holding him in place, as he continued in a low, calm voice that held a dangerous note of quiet warning.

 

“I try the only thing I can think of to save you from destroying your entire life – and you repay me not only by keeping the dangerous habit you’ve already got, even after it almost got you imprisoned for ten years… but also, taking up a _second_ dangerous habit as well. One that happens to be particularly personal to me and my profession. Are you _trying_ to kill yourself faster, House? Is that what this is?”

 

As Wilson spoke, the embers of the cigarette in House’s hand smothered and went out. Though he could still feel the searing burns they’d left on his hand, House found that his breath returned as the pain gradually faded to a dull, manageable level.

 

He looked up at Wilson with a defiant smirk as he retorted, “So what if I am? It’s none of _your_ business.”

 

Wilson blinked, strangely startled – and House suddenly had the feeling that his words had been very poorly chosen. In the next instant, Wilson’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and he raised House’s burned hand, shoving both of his wrists, hard, against the wall at the level of his head and moving in so close that there wasn’t an inch of space between them.

 

“None of my business.” Wilson barely breathed the disbelieving words, and House felt them as much as heard them, Wilson’s warm breath against his ear sending a shiver of mingled fear and anticipation down his spine. “None of my _business_. No, of course not. All I did was put everything on the line for you by lying to the cops… risk my career, my freedom… _everything_ to try to save you. Clearly, it’s no concern of mine whether you live or die.”

 

“Yeah,” House scoffed, though there was the slightest note of uncertainty in his trembling, breathless voice. “You risked everything – just to turn around and stab me in the back…”

 

“Shut up,” Wilson hissed, yanking him forward just to throw him back against the wall again.

 

And in that moment – Wilson made a decision.

 

If things were ever going to be right again between him and House… things were going to have to change. House was going to have to give up some things, change some reckless, dangerous behaviors – and Wilson was going to have to start being honest with his friend about the way he really felt.

 

And he knew just where to start.

 

House opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak, Wilson’s mouth was covering his, his tongue slipping past House’s parted lips in a forceful, demanding kiss. House froze for a moment, stunned by the unexpected – but not entirely unpleasant – invasion. It was a blatantly possessive gesture from Wilson, who was more aggressive than House had ever seen him, and just a little bit scary.

 

And also hotter than hell.

 

House found himself responding, yielding to the kiss, and then returning it.

 

The instant he started to kiss back, however, Wilson abruptly pulled away. House instinctively tried to follow him, but found his progress impeded by Wilson’s unyielding grip on his wrists, pinning him to the wall and not allowing him to move. Despite his frustration, the feeling of being restrained – having control stripped from him by the one person he might ever allow to take it – was incredibly arousing, and House felt his body beginning to react. He was unable to suppress a faint whine in the back of his throat as he opened his eyes.

 

“Why’d… why’d you… stop…?”

 

House’s voice trailed off as he noticed that Wilson’s features were twisted into an expression of contempt and revulsion. House couldn’t help leaning toward him as much as possible, as Wilson edged closer to him again. As he took in House’s unconscious reaction of confusion and breathless need, a slow, knowing smile spread across Wilson’s lips. He didn’t stop his advance until his body brushed House’s again.

 

His voice was soft but cold as he replied with slow, deliberate emphasis. “Because the taste of your nicotine-coated mouth disgusts me.”

 

House winced slightly at the words, opening his mouth to respond – but whatever he would have said vanished as Wilson’s right hand lowered to find the evidence of his desire and seize it in a rough grasp that was not quite painful. House drew in a sharp gasp of alarm and arousal, his head falling back against the wall again, eyes closed as his newly freed hand blindly covered Wilson’s.

 

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull it away – or help it along.

 

Wilson made the decision for him.

 

His voice was low, dark, and a little frightening as he ordered warningly, “ _Don’t_.”

 

House wasn’t really sure why he obeyed, but he did, returning his arched, trembling hand to the wall beside his head. Wilson’s smile widened with satisfaction at House’s response, and he tightened his hold slightly, leaning in to speak very softly against House’s ear.

 

“That was your last cigarette, House,” he stated in a subtly commanding tone that left no room for argument. “The next time I catch you smoking… not only will what just happened _never_ happen again… but I’ll find a much more interesting place to put it out.”

 

House bit back a groan, and Wilson let out a low, wicked laugh when House’s covered erection twitched within his grasp. Apparently, the idea of surrendering control to someone else was not exactly an unpleasant one for House. Deciding to use that new-found knowledge to his advantage, Wilson allowed his grip to gentle slightly, stroking House slowly through the rough denim of his jeans as he continuing issuing his calm, quiet demands.

 

“Your days of recklessly endangering your life at every turn are _over_ , House,” he declared softly. “It is _completely_ my business. _Everything you do_ is my business. You’re done with the cigarettes… and you’re done with the Vicodin.” At House’s wordless whimper of protest, he amended, “At least at the levels you’re taking it at now.”

 

“T-tried rehab,” House gasped out, desperation in his voice as he arched helplessly into Wilson’s hand. “Didn’t work.”

 

“No, you didn’t ‘try’ rehab,” Wilson scoffed. “But you’re about to.”

 

He smiled, rubbing his thumb across the bulge in the front of House’s jeans in a way that made the older man squirm desperately, trying to achieve a level of contact that was made impossible by his fully clothed state.

 

“I think I can come up with a rehab program that might work for you.”

 

“Okay,” House gasped, nodding eagerly. “Okay… whatever… _please_ …”

 

Wilson smirked as House’s hands flexed before closing into fists, and he unconsciously thrust forward against Wilson’s nimbly moving fingers. Wilson had gradually driven him to a point of almost frenzied need, and he was fairly certain that he could get House to agree to just about anything at that moment.

 

Wilson kept up his steady, rhythmic stroking as he continued to speak softly, firmly, into House’s ear. “You _are_ my business, House,” he stated in a subtly possessive tone, his grip tightening again as he added in a fierce whisper, “because you… are _mine_.”

 

As he spoke, he pressed his thumb in slow, insistent circles, leaving House panting, frantic, desperate with need. The combination of his touch and his words drove House over the edge, and Wilson smirked when he felt hot moisture seeping through the front of House’s jeans. His smile faded to something more serious, as he released House’s wrist, allowing his arms to fall.

 

House crossed his arms over his chest, gasping for breath as he leaned on the wall for support and struggled to recover. Wilson raised a hand to cup his cheek, leaning in to press a soft, chaste kiss to the corner of House’s mouth. His expression softened with affection as House turned his mouth toward Wilson in an effort to return the kiss – but he drew back, refusing the attempt.

 

“You’re mine,” Wilson repeated softly, waiting until House met his eyes to continue. “And I care too much to let you keep slowly destroying yourself.”

 

House stared at him through stunned, slightly awed eyes, still silent… breathless.

 

“Give me the cigarettes.”

 

Wilson’s voice was stern but affectionate as he expectantly held out his hand.

 

House hesitated just a moment before nodding his acceptance and taking the packet from his pocket. His fingertips lingered on Wilson’s as he pressed it into his hand. Wilson smiled, pleased, as he raised House’s burned palm to his lips and kissed it gently, holding his gaze the entire time.

 

House took a step toward him, and Wilson could see the hunger in his eyes, knew that he intended to kiss him again – but knew that he couldn’t allow it… not now.

 

If this was going to stick, he was going to have to hold his ground.

 

“ _Good night_ , House,” he said firmly, taking a step backward. “I’ll see you tomorrow. After you’ve brushed your teeth.”

 

He forced himself not to look back as he walked to the door, then outside, closing it behind him. A feeling of wonder and exhilarated expectation overwhelmed him as he made his way to his car, and he felt positively giddy with his success.

 

House wanted him, now.

 

Badly.

 

He probably always had… but now, he _knew_ it.

 

For once, Wilson knew that he was the one holding all the good cards – and if he played them right, he could win whatever he wanted.

 

 _Oh, the possibilities…_

 

Remembering the feel of House’s soft, pliant lips under his… the pleading, desperate sounds he made as Wilson lavished his attention on his needy body… Wilson almost wanted to turn around and go back; but he knew he couldn’t. If he did, he’d risk losing everything he’d just gained – and he had gained too much this night to ever give it up.

 

He smiled to himself as he started his car and drove away. He didn’t have to look back to know that, through the window, House was watching him go.

 

 _Tomorrow is going to be a_ very _good day…_


	2. Surrender

House used his cane to shove Wilson’s office door open, hard enough that it bounced off the wall with a resounding and thoroughly satisfying bang. He strode purposefully into the room, slamming the door hard behind him as he threw himself down into the chair across from Wilson’s, giving him an expectant look and waiting to be acknowledged in some way.

 

Wilson didn’t even look up from the form he was filling out.

 

“So… what the hell happened last night?” House demanded, determined not to be put off by whatever point Wilson thought he was making by ignoring him. “What _was_ that?”

 

Wilson didn’t respond at all, just kept writing.

 

One eyebrow raised speculatively, House very obviously settled more comfortably into the chair, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chest. “So it’s just business as usual today, then? I guess you _usually_ deal with your anger with inappropriate displays of physical affection, with a side of violence thrown in just for kicks? Or is that new?”

 

“House… I’m busy.” Wilson’s voice was quiet, utterly calm, and he didn’t even look up.

 

House reached across the desk and snatched the paper out from under Wilson’s hand, crumpling it and tossing it over his shoulder. “Paperwork can wait. We’ve got more important things to deal with at the moment.” He leaned forward, bracing a hand on the desk. “You _kissed_ me, Wilson.” House rolled his eyes and added in a falsely light, airheaded sort of voice, “What’s up with _that_?”

 

Wilson remained utterly unperturbed, avoiding eye contact as he calmly reached for another file and set it on the desk in front of him, in place of the paper House had confiscated.

 

“This isn’t the time for this discussion, House,” he stated. “I’m working right now.”

 

“This is a nice little role reversal, isn’t it?” House smirked. “Usually you can’t stop trying to force me to talk about whatever imaginary issues you think I’ve got at any given time. But all of a sudden you’re all about the avoidance?” He shook his head with a tsking sound of disapproval. “That’s not healthy, Wilson. It’ll come to a bad end. Who knows?” He spoke slowly, as if he was coming up with the scenario off the top of his head, as he warned, “You could end up a lonely, miserable drug addict with only one friend…” He paused, frowning skeptically as he looked Wilson up and down. “… who… seems to be exhibiting signs of deep mental and emotional disturbance at the moment...”

 

“Not now, House.”

 

House frowned as Wilson finished his notation in the file and rose to his feet to place it in the cabinet against the far wall. He turned in his seat to watch Wilson as he closed the filing cabinet and turned to face his friend.

 

Wilson’s tone was dismissive as he turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. “I’ve got a meeting. We’ll talk later…”

 

“No, you can’t just walk away…” House rose from his seat and reached out to grasp Wilson’s wrist in an effort to get him to wait.

 

Apparently, that was what it took to push Wilson into a reaction.

 

He spun around abruptly, jerking his arm free of House’s hand and shoving him with both hands toward the desk – not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough to throw House off balance and cause him to fall back against the desk. As House dropped his cane in order to catch himself on both hands, Wilson swiftly moved into the space he had vacated, closing the distance between them so that he was standing in the space between House’s sprawled legs.

 

Wilson was shorter than House, but in House’s current position, the younger man towered over him simply by virtue of standing. There was a cool, calculated smile on Wilson’s lips, and House couldn’t help but feel just the slightest bit – _intimidated_.

 

House thought of what Wilson had done with his cigarette from the night before, and suddenly, the way Wilson had so casually pushed him into the desk – and what was, in hindsight, probably the exact position in which he wanted him – was a little alarming. He instinctively flinched as Wilson’s hand moved toward his face with swift confidence – only to caress gently through his hair as Wilson smiled appraisingly down at him.

 

“You’re not going to call the shots about this one, House,” Wilson informed him in a soft, calm tone that held a vaguely dangerous note of warning. He paused a moment, considering his words before acknowledging with a slight nod, “I realize you’re concerned about what happened last night – and you deserve an explanation. But I’m working right now. This is not the time or place to have that conversation.”

 

Wilson raised his eyebrows in a silent question as he met House’s eyes, and House found himself automatically nodding his understanding.

 

“You have two options, House,” Wilson continued, holding House’s attention with an arresting gaze that refused to allow him to break eye contact. “You can either get over it and go on as if nothing happened… in which case, this friendship is almost definitely over, because things can’t keep going the way they have been…”

 

House raised his eyebrows in an automatic challenge at those words, refusing to allow Wilson to see that the calm, matter-of-fact way in which Wilson spoke of ending their friendship made him feel sick to his stomach. He remained silent, waiting uneasily for Wilson to go on.

 

“Or, you can come to the hotel tonight, and we can talk. I’ll explain what happened last night… and I’ll tell you what it’s going to take to save this friendship. It’s up to you.”

 

Unnerved by the entire situation, House raised his chin with a defiant smirk. “You think you’re going to _tell_ me what _I_ need to do so you’ll stay my friend? What makes you think this friendship is worth more to me than my self-respect?”

 

Wilson’s expression softened with something halfway between affection and pity, as he replied quietly, “I don’t. I’m trying to _salvage_ your self-respect, House… if you’ve got any left.”

 

House’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth for an indignant protest; but Wilson had already turned away from him.

 

“Meeting,” he reminded House as he opened the door. “I’m going to be late.”

 

And without another word, he was gone, leaving House fuming about the _nerve_ of Wilson, to think that he could just give him _orders_ , and expect that House would go along with it, just because he said so! Well, friendship or no, House had no intention of showing up at Wilson’s hotel room that night. No way was he going to let his friend think that he had that much control over House’s actions.

 

No, House had every intention of spending the evening in his own apartment, with the company of his television and a bottle of Vicodin – just like he spent every evening these days.

 

*********************************

 

Somehow, despite his intentions, House still found himself outside Wilson’s hotel room at seven that evening.

 

He hesitated before knocking on the door, somehow sensing the finality that would come with the gesture. Apprehension engaged in a brief war with curiosity; and, because this war took place in _House’s_ mind… curiosity inevitably won. Making his decision, House lifted his cane and rapped at the door – three sharp, loud knocks in slow succession.

 

After a few tense moments during which House almost decided to turn and walk away, Wilson finally answered the door. The smug smile on his face held such an irritating _lack_ of surprise, that House felt the need to make as obnoxious an entrance as possible.

 

He pushed rudely past Wilson into the room, making his way immediately to the mini-fridge and taking out a bottle of beer. He gave Wilson as expectant look, hesitating before closing the refrigerator door.

 

“Want one?”

 

Wilson shook his head, a strangely cool expression of mild amusement on his face as he silently watched House make his way back across the room toward him. House studied him cautiously, trying to figure out what was different about him – because something _was_ different.

 

Wilson’s physical appearance was striking, for one thing. He was dressed in a pair of dark jeans, with a black, long-sleeved shirt, not his usual uniform of button-down and tie. He seemed unusually quiet and calm… utterly in control. House felt his stomach do a funny little flip when Wilson noticed his staring, acknowledging it with a knowing little smile.

 

It was unnerving.

 

House tried to cover with a careless shrug. “Suit yourself. I have a feeling I’m going to need a drink or two before this conversation is over. This had better be some explanation. After storming into my home and _accosting_ me, you’ve got a lot to answer for, Jimmy.” He smirked. “And I’m just _dying_ to hear…”

 

“House.”

 

Wilson cut him off in a soft voice that was still somehow arresting, and House found himself obediently falling silent in spite of himself, waiting to see what Wilson would do next.

 

He didn’t have to wait long.

 

Wilson reached out to grip the back of the wheeled chair at the desk beside them, and slid it between them. His dark, piercing gaze never leaving House’s eyes, he moved around behind the chair, directly into House’s personal space without hesitation, so that there was less than an inch of empty space between them. Wilson’s voice was very quiet, barely over a whisper, as he issued another command with disarming softness.

 

“Sit down… and shut up.”

 

House’s eyes widened slightly, his breath quickening, alarms sounding in his mind at the vaguely dangerous gleam he saw in his friend’s eyes. But alarm was not the only feeling Wilson’s behavior inspired in him.

 

House’s thoughts were drawn back to the night before, the cigarette, and what Wilson had done with it. He felt his body beginning to respond to the memory, as well at the powerful, authoritative tone in Wilson’s voice – so unfamiliar, and so intriguing. He found himself wanting to obey, if only to see where and how far Wilson would take this little game he was playing.

 

Wilson abruptly backed up a step, easing the tension slightly with a dismissive shrug. “Or you can turn around and walk out, if you like,” he suggested in a deceptively casual voice. “It’s your choice, House. Whatever you want to do.”

 

House hesitated a moment longer; but Wilson’s wise choice to place a little of the power back in his hands made House’s decision easier. Slowly, cautiously, he slid the chair back a bit and sat down, watching Wilson closely as he did.

 

Wilson nodded with a smile of approval, walking around to stand in front of the chair, and House couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nervous apprehension at the obvious power discrepancy. He raised the beer bottle to his mouth in an attempt to steady his nerves, but before he could take another drink, Wilson reached out and swept the bottle from his grasp, placing it out of reach on the desk behind him.

 

“Hey!” House protested. “I need that!”

 

“No, you don’t,” Wilson stated, a serious expression on his face as he met House’s eyes. “You need to be sober for this.”

 

House raised an eyebrow, a slightly queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach. “For _what_?”

 

“You have an important decision to make tonight,” was Wilson’s cryptic response.

 

He picked up the bottle again and walked back toward the refrigerator to put it away, not speaking until he was standing in front of House again. House tapped his foot in a gesture of nervous impatience, wondering if Wilson was drawing out the suspense to deliberately torture him. Wilson came to stand in front of House again, studying him with an appraising gaze. Finally, he spoke again, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

 

“I’m sorry about last night, House.”

 

House regarded him warily. “Are you.”

 

“Yeah.” Wilson nodded. “I just sort of… snapped. I shouldn’t have lost control with you like that, shouldn’t have hurt you… not without your consent. Not without clear guidelines in…”

 

“Guidelines?” House echoed dubiously. “They make _guidelines_ for when it is and isn’t appropriate to burn your friends with lit cigarettes?”

 

Wilson didn’t bother to argue or defend himself, just made his way swiftly and certainly toward the door, swinging it open with a dramatic flourish and standing back expectantly to allow House to leave if he chose to do so. The message was immediately clear, and House held up both hands with a sigh of surrender.

 

“Okay, okay. Shutting up.”

 

Wilson was quiet for a moment as he closed the door again and returned to his friend. House searched his eyes for some sign as to where this was headed, and was a bit relieved at the first trace of uncertainty and vulnerability he had seen in Wilson since the beginning of this strange encounter. Wilson’s voice was soft, almost pleading, when he finally spoke with stark, painful honesty.

 

“I can’t watch you hurt yourself anymore.”

 

House’s lips parted in the beginning of a response – but he realized a moment later that he had none. He wanted to deny hurting himself – but he knew that he couldn’t. Wilson knew him far too well.

 

“I care too much for that. You’re my best friend, House. And I think you know, after last night…” Wilson gave him a rueful, mildly embarrassed smile. “… I’d… like for us to be more than that. And I think...” Wilson paused, walking slowly around behind House’s chair, trailing a casually seductive hand across his shoulder and around to the back of his neck. “… I _think_ … you’d like that, too.”

 

House closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing, as Wilson slowly circled him in a manner that was almost predatory, the light touch of his fingertips stirring a response in House’s body that he tried to repress. It wouldn’t do to let Wilson know how much of the upper hand he already had in this situation.

 

“What makes you think I’d like that?” he asked in a carefully controlled voice that still held the slightest hint of a tremor.

 

Wilson came back around to face him as House finished his question, crouching in front of him and meeting his eyes with a teasing, disarming smile as he slid a hand up House’s thigh.

 

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged innocently, then suddenly grasped the evidence of House’s arousal, causing the older man to gasp and reach out to place his hands protectively over Wilson’s. “ _This_ , maybe?” His tone hardened immediately, but he didn’t miss a beat as he ordered softly, “Put your hands at your sides, House.”

 

House’s hands twitched as he almost obeyed, but not quite. He frowned, eyes drifting closed in response to Wilson’s slow, strong caress, as he managed to choke out, “W-why… why should I…?”

 

His words ended in a sharp gasp of mingled pain and arousal as Wilson’s hand clenched tightly around House’s covered erection, and the younger man rose up slightly over him, his free hand grasping a handful of House’s hair and jerking his head backward in a possessive, dominant gesture. He moved in very close to House’s face, his words slow and emphatic and deliberate.

 

“Because I told you to.” He smiled when House’s treacherous cock twitched under his hand, and added, more softly, “And because you _like_ this, House. You like my taking control. Submitting to me. You might not want to admit it – but a part of you _wants_ this, House. Don’t you?”

 

House didn’t answer, but he swallowed hard, eyes closed to conceal the truth.

 

Wilson’s voice lowered, dark with warning as he repeated, “Put. Your hands. _Down_.”

 

There was a long, tense moment in which neither was exactly sure what would happen – and then, House slowly, haltingly removed his hands, placing them down at his sides as Wilson had ordered, grasping the bottom of the chair in an effort to keep them there.

 

Wilson smiled. “Good,” he murmured with clear pleasure at House’s decision. “Good, House. That’s the right choice.”

 

As he spoke, he continued lightly stroking House through his jeans, his other hand still holding House’s head back at an angle that was slightly uncomfortable, but not painful, a subtle and constant reminder of Wilson’s position of control in the situation.

 

“You want more?” he whispered.

 

House nodded eagerly, biting his lip in an effort to hold back his protest as Wilson removed his hand for a moment. He deftly unfastened the button at the top of House’s jeans, then slid his zipper down, and slipped his hand inside, grasping House’s erection through his underwear, in a firm, dominant grip. House bit back a groan at the increased intensity of contact, his arms jerking as his hands clenched around the edge of the chair.

 

“It makes sense,” Wilson whispered, his voice slow and enticing as he eased his grip and set to work gradually teasing House to a state of greater desire and need. As he continued, his voice grew harder, carrying a vague note of anger. “You’ve always got to be in control… always got to prove that you’re so strong… invulnerable… don’t need anything from anyone…”

 

He accompanied the words with a sharp scratch of his fingernails along the underside of House’s erection, and House couldn’t quite hold back a strangled whimper at the almost-pain of the unexpected touch, the restrained threat in Wilson’s tone. Then, all at once, Wilson’s hand and voice both softened, becoming gentle and affectionate.

 

“That’s why you _need_ this, House. This… surrender. This chance to give up control to someone else for a little while. To let someone else take over, so you don’t have to be so strong… so guarded… all the time.” His voice lowered to a seductive whisper, his lips close enough to brush House’s ear as he closed his hand in a firm fist around House’s throbbing cock.

 

“Don’t tell me you don’t want that.”

 

House struggled to regain some measure of control, gasping for breath, opening hazy eyes to meet Wilson’s expectant gaze as he choked out a half-hearted, thoroughly unconvincing protest.

 

“I… d-don’t… want it…”

 

Wilson just smiled, a knowing look in his dark, laughing eyes. “Liar,” he accused softly.

 

His smile faded slowly, his hand moving again, gradually working House toward the edge of his climax, as he continued to explain what he had in mind. His voice was quiet, weighted with concern and affection, as the hand in House’s hair gentled, stroking lightly through it as he spoke.

 

“I want to give you what you need, House. I want to help you. I want to be the one you can trust enough to surrender control to – and I want to use the control you give me to help you stop this… this self-destructive pattern you’ve gotten yourself into. Let me take a little bit of the burden from you, House. Let me take over. I can help you; I _know_ I can… but you have to _let_ me.”

 

His voice was hushed, husky with his own desire, as he stroked a thumb firmly down the underside of House’s erection, circling the tip with his fingertips as he leaned in close, his breath hot against the sensitive skin behind House’s ear.

 

“ _Give yourself to me_.”

 

That was all it took, and House lost all semblance of control, his climax overwhelming him. He let out a strangled cry, collapsing against the chair, and would have slid off onto the floor, had Wilson’s firm, supportive arm around his chest not held him up. As House gasped for breath, gradually recovering, Wilson kept his steadying arms around him.

 

As the haze slowly passed, and House began to return to full awareness, Wilson removed his arms, backing off and rising to his feet. House glanced up at him with embarrassed uncertainty as he tucked his softening member back into his jeans and zipped them up with a trembling hand.

 

His voice shook slightly as he stated, “You _do_ realize there’s a strong possibility you’re crazy, right?”

 

Wilson smiled in rueful amusement, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he admitted. “But there’s also a strong possibility I’m right. And _that_ theory actually has supporting evidence.”

 

House looked away, his face flushed with embarrassment, as he rose awkwardly to his feet. He shook his head slowly in bewilderment, struggling to process what Wilson had just said and done.

 

“You can’t really expect me to just… what? Submit my will to yours?” He spoke the last sentence with deliberate irony, a single incredulous brow raised as he gave Wilson a dubious look.

 

“That’s up to you.” Wilson shrugged mildly, half-turning away from House as he sat down on the edge of his bed. “Completely your choice.” His light manner faded, becoming deadly serious as he added, “But I refuse to watch you slowly kill yourself anymore, House. You can let me help you… or you can find someone else to help you… or…” He hesitated, grimacing at the pain of speaking the words as he met House’s eyes and concluded, “… or you can find someone else to watch you destroy your life, one step at a time. Because I’m done.”

 

House was silent, sobered by Wilson’s words, and the firm surety he heard in them. The whole Tritter debacle, his recent overdose, all the recent painful, frightening drama they’d been through had apparently driven Wilson to his breaking point. Staring at the sad resignation in his friend’s eyes, House had no doubt that Wilson meant every word.

 

“I know you need to think about it,” Wilson acknowledged with a nod, his eyes averted. “I know it’s a big decision. If we do this… it isn’t a game. It isn’t something you just… walk away from and pretend it never happened. I understand that it’s gonna take some thought and consideration.” He paused, looking up to meet House’s eyes again.

 

“I’ll give you twenty-four hours.”

 

House gave him a startled, uncertain look, waiting for further clarification.

 

“If you decide you want to give this a try… to let me help you…” Wilson’s voice was quiet and solemn as he watched House closely, making sure he understood. “… then be back here tomorrow night, same time. If you’re not, I’ll know your decision.”

 

House frowned slightly, troubled, but nodded once in silent agreement as he headed for the door. He stopped just short of walking out, turning to face Wilson as he stated softly, “Don’t be surprised if you don’t see me. I’m not very comfortable with letting other people make choices for me, no matter how much I think I trust them.” He paused, gesturing toward his bad leg with the cane in his hand. “Last time I did… didn’t work out so well for me.”

 

Wilson nodded in silent understanding… but House knew that it changed nothing about what he had said. If he didn’t show up the following night, House knew that it was as good as throwing away their friendship entirely.

 

He just had to decide if Wilson was worth the risk.


	3. Chapter 3

Neither man was really surprised when House showed up at Wilson’s door the following night – with a mere five minutes of his twenty-four hours to spare.

 

Wilson opened the door for him with a silent, knowing smile, and House self-consciously averted his gaze as he stepped past him into the hotel room. He stood there awkwardly in the middle of the room for a few moments, giving Wilson a questioning, uncertain look, unsure as to what he should do next.

 

Wilson gestured toward the loveseat in the corner, suggesting mildly, “Have a seat.”

 

House nodded once as he obeyed without hesitation. Once seated, he crossed his arms over his stomach in a subconsciously defensive gesture, warily looking up at Wilson, clearly wondering what was going to happen next. Wilson’s response to his obvious suspicion was a warm smile of affectionate amusement as he moved to sit down beside House.

 

House was unresponsive, but unresisting, as Wilson placed a strong hand behind his head and leaned in to kiss him softly on the mouth, his tongue pressing insistently past the yielding barrier of House’s lips and teeth. Wilson allowed the kiss to last for a few moments before drawing back to meet House’s eyes with a smile of quiet delight.

 

“I’m glad you came,” he confessed softly.

 

House swallowed slowly, the taste of Wilson’s mouth lingering in his own, the feeling of Wilson’s steady hand still resting at the back of his neck setting a strange, fluttering sensation in his stomach. His eyes lowered as he spoke in an unusually quiet, subdued tone.

 

“I, uh… never knew you were gay. Never suspected. Not once, in fifteen years.”

 

Wilson let out a warm laugh. “You really should have. Three failed marriages tell you _nothing_?”

 

“They told me that you’re incapable of being faithful to any woman.”

 

“Yeah.” Wilson’s smile faded into a more solemn expression, and he waited until House met his eyes again. “Any _woman_.” He was silent for a moment, watching as House’s eyes widened in understanding, allowing the impact of his words to sink in before continuing.

 

“Anyway,” he added finally with a casual shrug. “I’ve known for years that you were bi.”

 

House returned the shrug, feigning a complete lack of surprise. “It’s not like I’ve made any effort to hide it. I just… happen to prefer women, usually.”

 

Wilson’s hand tensed slightly on the back of House’s neck, and he abruptly kissed House again, with more aggression this time, catching House’s wrist and pinning it when he raised his hand to touch Wilson, not releasing him or ending the kiss until House was gasping for breath.

 

“And me,” Wilson stated, a little breathless himself, eyes gleaming with an unmistakably possessive light, eyebrows raised knowingly as his hand brushed across the swiftly swelling bulge in the front of House’s jeans..

 

House nodded, holding his gaze as he swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he admitted. “And you, apparently.”

 

Wilson smirked, clearly satisfied with House’s reaction. “And you’re supposed to be the observant one. It was obvious to me, almost as long as I’ve known you,” he teased. His smile faded a little, something darker and more intense forming in his expression as he added, “It took me a little longer to recognize your… more… _specific_ needs. Thing is,” Wilson went on, looking away for a moment. “I’ve got some specific needs, too. And I really think this arrangement will work out well for both of us.”

 

Still unusually quiet, House did not question or argue. He just sat there, staring expectantly at Wilson and waiting for… something.

 

He wasn’t really sure what, exactly.

 

“I get tired of being Mr. Nice Guy sometimes, House,” Wilson admitted. “I can’t control the outcome of my work. I try to save my patients… try so hard to help…” He looked up at House, a deep sorrow in his eyes. “They still die.” He shook his head sadly, looking away again. “And until now, I haven’t had much control over the outcome of my relationships, either. There’s so much in my life that’s… that’s out of my hands. I just feel like I need to… to control _something_ , you know?”

 

He turned back toward House, his free hand resting on his thigh, sliding slowly upward as he met his eyes with an intent, searching gaze.

 

“Me,” House concluded in a hoarse whisper, his eyes lowering momentarily to Wilson’s lips as the other man moved closer.

 

Wilson nodded slowly, his hand at the back of House’s head rubbing his hair. His other hand on House’s thigh squeezed gently, and then slid upward and inward. Wilson smiled when House drew in a sharp, trembling breath, his eyes closing and his body tensing at the increased contact. His hand tightened possessively in House’s hair, pulling gently as he leaned in close to whisper against House’s ear.

 

“I _need_ you, House… and you need me, whether you want to admit it or not. This can be so… _so_ … _good,_ for us…”

 

He kissed House again, pushing him back against the loveseat and holding him there, and House’s body immediately reacted to the gentle restraint. He pushed upward against Wilson, returning his kiss with fervency, his back arching upward in a desperate attempt to increase their contact – but Wilson playfully pulled his body away from House, smiling against House’s lips before deepening the kiss.

 

After a moment, House pulled his mouth away with an effort, gasping for breath as his piercing, pensive gaze locked onto Wilson in a searching expression. Wilson frowned, arching a single brow in a silent question.

 

“So this is how the game is played, then?” House finally regained his breath enough to ask. “You call all the shots? You decide how much I get, and when? I’m like… your _property_ now, or something?”

 

Wilson immediately froze, and House’s stomach dropped at the cold expression of anger in his eyes. He knew he was at a distinct physical disadvantage, and in his experience, looks like the one Wilson now bore did not usually lead to anything but physical or emotional pain. He couldn’t imagine that Wilson would actually hurt him; still, he couldn’t help but flinch when Wilson’s hands clenched around his wrists and shook him slightly.

 

“This isn’t a _game_ , House!” Wilson snapped, his voice trembling with frustration. “This is _real_. You’ve been on some kind of self-destructive rampage for the last few years, and it’s long past time someone took you in hand before you manage to succeed in destroying yourself, and anyone who cares about you!” He emphasized the words with another shake, ignoring House’s slight wince with an effort as he concluded, “This is deadly serious – and I’m _not_ going to let you treat it like a joke!”

 

Wilson didn’t want to relent. He was angry, and frustrated, and wanted it to be absolutely clear to House just how serious the matter was. However, his friend’s visible anxiety was more than he could stand at the moment. He wanted House to respect him, and the role he was taking on… but he didn’t want House to be afraid of him.

 

Slowly, Wilson backed off, releasing House’s wrists and sitting up straight again on the couch, drawing in a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to regain his composure. He glanced at House with uncertainty, and his heart sank when he saw the way his eyes were averted, the anxious set of his taut shoulders as he slowly sat up again, deliberately leaving a full foot of space between the two of them.

 

“So…” he began in a hesitant, subdued voice. “… that would be a ‘yes’, then. To the… property thing.”

 

Wilson softened with a sigh, turning toward House again and resting a gentle hand on his leg. House tensed, but did not pull away.

 

“House… _no_ ,” Wilson assured him with quiet urgency. “I don’t want this to be anything like that. We’re only doing this at all if you agree to do it, and you have the right to end this arrangement and walk away at any time.” He paused, amending softly, “I hope that you won’t… because this is for your own good.” He waited until House looked up cautiously to meet his eyes before stating in a voice of quiet intensity, filled with love and trembling with unshed tears, “You’re falling, right before my eyes, House – out of control. All I want… is to catch you.”

 

House’s eyes went wide with startled amazement, and he swallowed hard, looking away before Wilson could notice the suspicious sheen in his eyes. He didn’t argue or agree with Wilson’s words. After a moment, however, he nodded slowly, once, and glanced up at Wilson with an almost timid, questioning look, the right side of his lower lip caught anxiously between his teeth.

 

Wilson suppressed the shudder of need that expression aroused in him, struggling for the control he knew he would need to maintain for this conversation. He looked away from House as he rose to his feet, turning his back momentarily.

 

 _Just have to keep my eyes away from… certain things… for now_ , he reminded himself. _Just have to focus on what really matters here. There’ll be plenty of time for… other things… later…_

“This is the way it’s going to work,” he began in a voice of quiet authority, turning back to face House with his arms crossed unyieldingly over his chest, though not quite looking at him. “You haven’t exactly been making the best choices lately. I’m not sure at this point that you _can_. So… I’ll be making the choices for you from now on.” He raised his eyes to meet House’s solemn gaze, making sure that he understood as he added, “ _All_ of them.”

House let out a quiet scoffing sound, rolling his eyes. “Right. Like that’s going to happen…”

 

As he spoke, Wilson swiftly closed the distance between them, and House’s words were broken off with a startled yelp when Wilson grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, glaring down at him in warning as he spoke in a hard, commanding voice.

 

“Do not speak until I’m finished.” He twisted his hand slightly in House’s hair, and House winced, biting back a soft cry of protest. “You will not interrupt me again. Is that clear?”

 

Wilson held his breath, well aware that this was the first, small test of their arrangement, and wondering what the result would be. House seemed just as aware of this, and hesitated, his fists clenched into fists at his sides, his entire body tensed with indecision. Finally, he responded in an uncharacteristically quiet, restrained voice.

 

“Yes… yes, Wilson. That’s clear.” He hesitated before looking up to meet Wilson’s eyes with an intent, piercing stare that, in combination with the submissive words, sent a shock of arousal straight to Wilson’s groin. “I’m sorry.”

 

Wilson was quiet for a moment, maintaining his hold on House just long enough to make it clear that he didn’t _have_ to release him – before releasing him, turning his hold on House’s hair into a gentle caress.

 

“Good,” he murmured. “That’s good.” He paused a moment, sitting down beside House again and facing him. “You’ve agreed to this, House. That means you’re going to have to learn to put control in someone else’s hands. Mine.”

 

House didn’t interrupt, but the dubious look he gave Wilson said more than enough.

 

“I can make the incentives… incredibly good for you…” Wilson assured him, his voice softening, taking on a low, suggestive note as he slid his hands under the hem of House’s shirt, stroking his stomach lightly before edging his fingers down to play at the waist of his jeans. Abruptly he gripped House’s belt and jerked him closer, suggestion changing into warning as he added, “… and the consequences… very, _very_ bad.”

 

Though House didn’t pull away, he raised his chin in a subtle gesture of defiance; but Wilson could clearly see the faint traces of apprehension in his eyes. There was a slight tremor to his voice as he softly responded.

 

“Suddenly you think you have the right to manhandle me anytime you feel like it?”

 

“No. Suddenly I _do_ have the right,” Wilson shot back in a dark, warning voice, leaning in so close that House could feel his breath against his throat. His tone softened as he added, “But you can take that right away from me. Anytime you want.” He drew back enough to meet House’s eyes with a challenge in his own, his voice barely over a whisper as he slowly slid his hands off of House, holding them up between them in a gesture of surrender.

 

“Get up… and walk out. If you want to.”

 

House stared at him in silence for a long, tense moment… before averting his gaze, lowering his head.

 

“Right.” Wilson did his best to conceal his sigh of relief. “Then here’s how it’s going to be. I’m going to help you get your life under control, break these habits that are ruining your life. You will submit yourself completely to me. Any commands I give you, you’ll obey. You will tell me the truth… listen to me… respect me. There will be rewards for obedience… and punishments for disobedience or disrespect.”

 

“Punishments?” House raised his eyebrows, visibly trying to conceal his alarm.

 

“I won’t ever cause you any permanent physical harm,” Wilson assured him. “And I won’t do anything you haven’t consented to. Again, if at any time you change your mind… all you have to do is walk out.”

 

“This whole… ‘you controlling every aspect of my life’ thing,” House said speculatively, watching Wilson closely for his reaction. “That might not go over so well at work…”

 

“At work, things will be as they’ve always been,” Wilson clarified confidently. “You can keep on being an ass, and I’ll keep being your tolerant, understanding friend. Any commands I give you at home, though… you’ll obey them during working hours as well. Such as… the amount of drugs you take, that sort of thing.”

 

House frowned, troubled, averting his eyes again. “I… I’m not sure…”

 

Wilson edged close to him again, reaching out to grasp House’s arms gently, running his hands soothingly up and down them as he held his gaze and spoke in an earnest, patient voice.

 

“I’ll never do anything that’s not good for you, House – or ask _you_ to, either. I… I want you to trust that. This arrangement can be so good for both of us, I _know_ it. I’m just asking you… to _trust_ me. Completely.”

 

House’s breath quickened with Wilson’s nearness, as well as the soft, intent emotion in his words. House’s gaze passed repeatedly between Wilson’s eyes and his mouth, as the younger man gently pushed him back against the couch again, covering House’s lips with his own in a firm, demanding kiss.

 

House immediately surrendered to the kiss, reaching out trembling hands to find Wilson’s waist, drawing him closer and deepening their embrace. After a few moments, Wilson reluctantly pulled away for breath, looking down at House through anxious, uncertain eyes – clearly seeking an answer.

 

House opened his mouth to respond, then hesitated and closed it again. He shook his head, holding Wilson’s gaze as he confessed quietly. “You… you know me, Wilson. You should know by now… what you’re asking… I… I’m not sure it’s possible anymore.” He was quiet, apologetic, as he added, “I don’t think I can trust you that much.”

 

“If you can’t… I’ll understand.” Wilson’s voice was gentle, understanding, as he raised a hand to cup the back of House’s head in a gesture that was both affectionate and possessive. “You can walk out of this anytime you want to. All I’m asking you to do… is _try_.”

 

House’s expression was still uncertain, and a little bit afraid, as he searched Wilson’s eyes for… something. Finally, very slowly, he nodded, lowering his eyes in submission.

 

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

 

Wilson smiled, trying not to show how House’s response delighted him. “I promise you,” he whispered, his hand at House’s chin tilting his head up, insisting that he face him. “You’re not going to regret this.”

 

House let out a shaky, nervous laugh. “That… remains to be seen.”

 

“Well… then let’s have a little demonstration.”

 

Wilson’s smile faded, his expression becoming solemn, as he rose to his feet. House’s unusually vulnerable eyes followed him, large and watchful as Wilson took a step back and regarded him thoughtfully.

 

“Get up,” he ordered softly.

 

House stared at him for a long moment, before taking his cane in a shaky hand and rising slowly to his feet.

 

“Good.”

 

Wilson smiled with a slight nod of approval as he issued his second command.

 

“Now… take off your clothes."


	4. Trust

_“Take off your clothes.”_

 

House froze at the quiet command, his mouth going dry, his stomach clenching with a mixture of fear and anticipation. His anxious eyes searched Wilson’s face for any sign of yielding… but found none.

 

“So…” He kept his voice low to disguise the slight tremor it held. “… you’re just going to stand there and watch… keep the advantage to yourself… while I get all naked and vulnerable for your amusement?”

 

Wilson’s eyes softened with sympathy, but the determination in his expression did not fade as he began to move with slow, certain steps closer to where House stood. House visibly tensed at his approach, though he tried not to show the apprehension he felt.

 

This new, commanding side of Wilson was something with which he had no experience, and he had even less idea how to respond, or what to expect from him. It was hard to imagine Wilson actually doing anything to hurt him. But then, he had learned too well that no matter how well he knew people, they were always capable of surprising him – usually in the most painful and unpleasant way possible.

 

At any rate, his instincts told him that it would not be a good idea to anger Wilson right now.

 

He tensed, but didn’t pull away as Wilson’s soft, strong hands reached out to grasp his arms, running slowly up and down in a soothing motion as he held his gaze.

 

“This isn’t about my amusement, or me having the advantage, House.” Wilson’s voice was soft, strangely calming, as he finally responded to House’s nervous question. “This is a test. Of your obedience… and your trust. If this is going to work, House… you’re going to have to trust that I’m not going to use the upper hand against you… not going to _abuse_ your trust. Okay?”

 

House was silent, averting his eyes for a moment before meeting Wilson’s gaze again, clearly uncertain.

 

“My control is an illusion, House,” Wilson explained, his words slow and emphatic. “Any time you want to walk out of this, you can. It’s your choice.”

 

“We just… won’t be friends anymore if I do,” House observed in a dubious, defeated tone.

 

“I’ve already told you – I won’t watch you kill yourself, House.” Wilson let out a weary, vaguely impatient sigh, though his dark eyes were filled with concern. “And I believe that this is your best chance of avoiding that eventual outcome.” He was silent for a moment, allowing his sobering words to sink in. “So… are you going to give this a chance?”

 

House hesitated for a long moment, biting his lip, before finally relenting with a single slow nod.

 

“Good.” Wilson gave him an approving, encouraging smile, raising a gentle hand to cup his cheek. His expression became serious as he continued in a quiet, intent voice. “From this moment… you’re putting yourself in my hands. You’ll do as I say, no matter _what_ I say… and trust that I won’t do anything to hurt you. Right?”

 

House was quiet, considering, still hesitant.

 

 _If it gets out of hand… if it goes too far… I can always walk away…_

But his silent self-reassurances were meaningless, because House knew that he couldn’t walk away from Wilson… not knowing that he would not be accepted back again.

 

Still, he finally nodded, submitting to Wilson’s terms.

 

“Good,” Wilson nodded his approval, his hand sliding around to the back of House’s neck to draw him down for a firm, assertive kiss. “Smart choice.”

 

His voice was breathless when he finally pulled away, meeting House’s eyes with an intent, possessive look of lust. His voice lowered, becoming dark and commanding as he lowered his hands and stepped backward, giving House room to move.

 

“Now take off your clothes.”

 

House’s hands were trembling as he unbuttoned his shirt, then slid it slowly back off his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor. He kept his eyes averted, still uncertain and insecure with the lack of control he held over the situation, He swallowed hard as he unfastened his jeans, hesitating with his hands holding them low around his hips.

 

“Do it.” Wilson’s voice was quiet, soft and dark, pressing past House’s fear and insecurity. “Take them off.”

 

“Wilson…” House’s voice was trembling, hesitant… pleading.

 

“House.” Wilson’s tone was warning, but his expression was gentle as he closed the distance between them again, his hands covering House’s and slowly edging the jeans down lower. “It’s all right. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

House let out a sarcastic snort, rolling his eyes, trying to take a step backward; but Wilson held onto him, not allowing his retreat.

 

“Trust me,” Wilson softly urged him, “and do as I say.”

 

House made no move to finish taking off his pants, but when Wilson began slowly sliding them down, he didn’t resist. As they dropped to the floor, Wilson’s hands rose, one resting at the back of House’s neck, the other on his shoulder and sliding downward as he kissed House slowly, with tenderness and affection. House stepped out of the jeans as they fell, instinctively returning the kiss, his shaky hands finding Wilson’s waist and pulling him in closer.

 

“See?” Wilson murmured against his mouth as he finally drew back. “Not so bad… everything’s all right… right?” As he spoke, his hand traced the hard plane of House’s torso until it rested below his waist, his thumb stroking in a slow circle along the line of his hip.

 

House nodded, breathless, his eyes closed, his forehead resting against Wilson’s.

 

“Look at me,” Wilson whispered, his dark eyes intent and searching on House’s face as the older man obediently met his gaze. “Do you trust me?”

 

House stared at him for a moment before nodding again, hurriedly, recklessly.

 

“Good,” Wilson whispered, lowering his gaze again as he slowly disentangled himself from House’s arms, moving reluctantly backward until he was a few feet away. He met House’s eyes again, his voice calm and reassuring, but full of unmistakable authority.

 

“Get on your knees.”

 

House frowned, opening his mouth to protest, but Wilson spoke again before he could, addressing his objections before he could voice them.

 

“I _know_ it won’t be comfortable. I know you’ll need help to get up. But that’s where you’ve got to _trust me_.” He paused, giving House a rueful grimace and a vaguely apologetic shrug as he pointed out, “And if you can’t handle a little bit of discomfort here and there… how are you ever going to get the Vicodin under control?”

 

House wanted to say that he really had no desire to “get the Vicodin under control” – but he was fairly certain that wouldn’t go over well at the moment. He glanced around the room, looking for some source of support. He found the bed, and took a couple of shuffling steps toward it, using it and his cane to brace himself as he slowly lowered his knees to the floor.

 

Wilson smiled, moving toward the bed himself and reaching down to tenderly cup House’s cheek, his thumb smoothing over his taut, anxious expression, looking down with reassurance into eyes filled with restrained panic.

 

“You’re doing very well,” Wilson assured him softly. “I’m very pleased.”

 

His eyes, usually a pure chocolate brown, seemed a shade darker as he stared down at House with unbridled desire in his gaze, and House felt his mouth go dry with wary anticipation and excitement, his body beginning to stir in response to the undeniably erotic situation in which he had somehow found himself.

 

Wilson’s mouth turned up in a slight smirk when he noticed House’s arousal, fully exposed to his sight.

 

“I told you you’d like this.”

 

As he spoke, he kicked off his own shoes and socks, unfastening his jeans with hurried, trembling hands, stepping out of them as they slid to the floor. He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward to snare House’s mouth once more in an urgent, almost frantic kiss, his hands tangling in House’s hair and holding his mouth to Wilson’s until they were both breathless and gasping.

 

When Wilson drew back, he was pleased to see a haze of arousal and need in House’s deep blue gaze. His hand remained at the back of House’s head in a possessive, slightly restraining grip as he met House’s eyes, his own serious and searching, and spoke in a hoarse, husky whisper.

 

“Can you do this, House? Can you submit to me completely?”

 

House knew what he was asking, and hesitated a moment. It wasn’t as if he’d never done this before, wasn’t as if he didn’t know what he was doing – but this was different. This wasn’t some random guy he’d picked up at a college party, or a hooker he’d forget after tonight.

 

This was _Wilson,_ and this could change _everything,_ and _God_ , he wanted him _so bad_...

 

House made his decision in an instant and nodded hurriedly, shifting forward on his knees until he was positioned between Wilson’s parted thighs. Wilson’s hands in his hair guided his progress, stroking reassuringly when House grimaced at the discomfort caused by his shuffling motion.

 

“Good… good…” Wilson murmured encouragement as House edged forward a bit more with a hint of uncertainty – then abruptly lowered his head, taking Wilson’s erection into his mouth without warning or preamble. “… good… gooood _God_ , House, what are you… _God_ …”

 

Wilson fell back onto the bed, supporting his weight with his arms, head back and eyes closed as he babbled mindless encouragement, overwhelmed by the sensations of heat and sweet, slick friction against his sensitive flesh.

 

House couldn’t help a smile around Wilson’s erection. His apprehensions and insecurities faded away for the moment, swallowed up in a sense of power and pride at the knowledge that he was able to reduce Wilson to such a helpless state in no more than an instant. It felt as if a little bit of the control he had relinquished to Wilson was, at least for a few brief minutes, back in his hands.

 

He drew back, lapping in teasing, light strokes around the head of Wilson’s cock, chuckling softly at the whimper of frustrated need that left Wilson’s throat. Apparently the vibrations from his quiet laughter intensified the sensation for Wilson, because his whimpers choked off abruptly into a strangled, keening sound.

 

“More,” he gasped out, letting himself fall onto his back and reaching down with greedy hands to grasp House’s hair, pulling his head closer, forcing him to take more of him into his mouth. “More, please, _now_ …”

 

House gagged slightly at the unexpected intrusion, but quickly recovered, going with it, intensifying his efforts to bring Wilson to his climax. Within moments, Wilson seemed to lose control entirely, his hips thrusting desperately forward, his fists clenched painfully in House’s hair as he held his head in place and brought himself off, filling House’s mouth with the bitter salt tang of his spendings.

 

House immediately tried to pull away, but Wilson held him there a moment longer, rising up weakly on one arm to meet House’s eyes. House’s heart leapt in his chest at the dark fire in Wilson’s intense gaze, as the younger man shook his head slightly.

 

“No,” he softly insisted. “Swallow it.”

 

House hesitated just a moment before obeying, and Wilson’s head fell back again at the sensation of House’s swallowing, with Wilson’s softening cock still in his mouth. Wilson released his grip on House’s hair, falling back against the bed, gasping for breath, as House fell back onto his knees, also struggling to catch his breath as he waited for Wilson to recover.

 

After a few moments, Wilson sat up with a silly, lazy smile, gazing down at House with admiring eyes.

 

“House… you’re freaking _amazing,_ you know that?”

 

House didn’t bother to suppress his self-satisfied smirk as he shrugged. “Never had any complaints.” He kept his challenging gaze focused on Wilson’s eyes as he continued slowly, casually, “You know. From the dozens of random people whose brains I’ve screwed out of their heads in the past few years.”

 

Something dark and dangerous flashed in Wilson’s eyes, but he smiled as he rose to his feet, reaching down to put one hand under House’s elbow and the other around his waist to help him to his feet. He immediately kissed House again, a muffled moan escaping his lips when he tasted himself in House’s mouth.

 

He drew back, laughing brown eyes looking House up and down as he teased, “And people think _I’m_ a slut.”

 

“You _are_ a slut,” House countered with a note of defiance, daring Wilson to try to subdue him.

 

Wilson smirked, his hands trailing idly over House’s naked form, before yanking him in close to Wilson’s body, one hand sliding possessively down to grope House’s ass. “But _you’re_ not,” Wilson declared softly, holding his gaze. “Not anymore. You’re mine, now.”

 

“I don’t know…” House frowned speculatively, blue eyes blazing with challenge. “You really think you can satisfy me?”

 

Wilson’s eyes narrowed with a flash of anger, and House drew in his breath sharply as he grabbed a handful of his hair and jerked his head backward, sending electric tingles of pain through his abused, over-sensitized scalp. House stayed still and pliant as Wilson’s mouth assailed his neck, kissing and licking and biting until House was trembling with need… and then drawing back to give him a cold, dangerous smile. Wilson’s voice was very soft, and a little frightening.

 

“Let’s find out.”

 

He maneuvered House around so that his back was to the bed before removing his hands from his body and taking a step back.

 

“Lie down on the bed,” he ordered with quiet composure.

 

House swallowed hard, a cold knot of apprehension forming in the pit of his stomach again at the calculated expression on Wilson’s face. In spite of his uncertainties, however, House sat down slowly, wary eyes focused on Wilson as he drew his legs up onto the bed.

 

Wilson watched House, waiting until he was lying on his back on the bed to turn away and go to the dresser across the room. House couldn’t see past him to know what he was doing, until he turned around again, facing House with a sly, secretive smile, holding up something in his hands.

 

House’s mouth went dry, his eyes going wide as he saw two pairs of leather cuffs in Wilson’s hands. He tensed, his breath quickening, a trapped expression appearing in his eyes. As Wilson climbed onto the bed on his knees, straddling House’s hips, a slight shudder went through him.

 

His voice was hushed, trembling. “Wilson…”

 

“ _Trust me_.”

 

Wilson’s voice was barely over a whisper as he met House’s eyes, leaning down to kiss him firmly, grasping his wrists and pinning them to the mattress, the cuffs still dangling from his right hand. House was tense and unresponsive at first, but then warmed to the kiss, yielding and returning it as Wilson’s tongue searched his mouth in a long, languorous caress.

 

Wilson left House breathless and gasping as he rose up again, buckling one end of each cuff to the posts of the headboard. He looked down at House again, reaching out to grasp his right wrist and bringing it toward the leather cuff hanging from the headboard. His effort was met with no more than the barest instinctive resistance, as House visibly tried his best to fight his fears and yield his body to Wilson’s hands.

 

Once his wrists were secured, he couldn’t help but test the strength of the bonds, his heartbeat accelerating when he realized that they were indeed sturdy… unbreakable. Panic began to creep in around the edges of his mind, and he jerked futilely against the bonds that held him, fighting back the frantic plea that rose in his throat when he realized the facts of the matter.

 

He was helpless.

 

“House.” Wilson’s voice was hushed, gentle, as he stroked a soft hand down House’s cheek, meeting his eyes again. “You’re safe. You can trust me. I promise you… if you don’t want to do this, I won’t force you to. I’ll take these off right now, if you tell me you don’t want it. All right?”

 

House nodded hurriedly, trying to catch his breath.

 

“It’s all right. I won’t hurt you. Okay?”

 

House nodded again, reassured by Wilson’s words. The reminder that he could say _stop_ at any time he chose to do so made him feel a little safer, and he resolved to at least give Wilson a chance, despite his misgivings.

 

And then, Wilson was touching him, trailing his fingertips slowly up the underside of his erection – and suddenly, House was beyond conscious thought, his fears lost in an overwhelming flood of sensation. His breath caught in his throat, his back arching upward in response to Wilson’s touch. Wilson’s low, dark laugh of amusement at House’s reaction went straight to House’s cock, and he bit back a groan of frustration and pleasure.

 

“Wilson… _God_ …”

 

“Not quite.” Wilson smirked. “But I’m flattered.”

 

His expert hands trailed lightly up the insides of House’s quaking thighs, a single fingertip forming a slow, lazy circle around the base of his erection. House’s hips thrust helplessly up in a futile attempt to increase their contact.

 

Abruptly Wilson’s hands became hard and unyielding, grasping the tops of his thighs and forcing him down against the bed. He leaned over House and closed his mouth over the side of his neck, biting down, hard enough to make House gasp with shock and alarm. He rose up, staring down at House through narrowed eyes. His voice was soft and warning, sending a shock of electric excitement straight through House.

 

“ _Don’t. Move_.”

 

House bit back a strangled cry of need, his head lolling against the pillows, eyes closed. “Wilson…” he gasped out, stammering and stumbling over his words. “… touch me… I n-need…”

 

“I _know_ what you _need_ ,” Wilson stated firmly, his fingers pinching the skin on the inside of House’s thigh, a bare inch from his throbbing erection. “Stop trying to run this, House… because you can’t.”

 

House flinched at the sharp sensation that was as much pleasure as pain, writhing uselessly, helplessly pinned in place by Wilson’s body, and the cuffs at his wrists. Wilson’s hands held his thighs firmly as he lowered himself down the bed again, holding House’s gaze the entire time. He kept his eyes locked onto House’s face, even as he lowered his head to take House into his mouth.

 

“ _Shit_ … Wilson… _Wilson_ …”

 

House gasped at the silken heat that suddenly surrounded his erection, bucking upward, though Wilson’s strong hands held him in place, not allowing him much freedom of motion at all. Within moments, House was on the brink, babbling out urgent, desperate encouragement to Wilson as the younger man licked and sucked at him with torturously slow, teasing motions.

 

“Wilson… Wilson, _please_ …”

 

The _please_ seemed to do the trick, as Wilson took House deeper into his mouth, swallowing around him and pulling him over the edge into oblivion. House’s hands jerked against the leather that bound his wrists, a choked cry of pleasure escaping his lips as he writhed under Wilson’s restraining hands.

 

House was barely aware of it when Wilson unfastened the cuffs, gently rubbing his slightly chafed wrists, pulling him into a tender, affectionate embrace. Gradually, House felt himself drifting back to earth, staring through dazed, hazy eyes up into Wilson’s warm, calm gaze. Wilson’s hand stroked slowly through his damp hair, holding him close as the remnants of his release shook through him.

 

“See?” Wilson whispered, placing a soft kiss on the patch of stubble just in front of House’s ear. “I told you you could trust me. I told you you were safe with me. Do you believe me, now, House? I’m always going to do what’s right for you… it’s okay… it’s all right…”

 

House nodded, breathless and silent, his forehead resting against Wilson’s chest as the capacity for thought slowly returned to him. And the first thought that filled his mind surprised him, because it was contrary to every fearful thought he’d had at the beginning of the evening.

 

 _Maybe… just_ maybe _… this is going to work out. Wilson would never hurt me… Maybe… maybe this_ once _… it really is safe to trust..._


	5. Deception

House awakened the next morning, a bit disoriented at first as he found himself face to face with an unfamiliar beige wall, adorned with a generic still life painting of a vase of flowers. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the surroundings, memory gradually returning to him of where he was… and how he had gotten there.

 

 _Wilson_ _’s hotel room… Wilson’s_ bed _… Last night…_ whoa _._

He had been lying there for about ten minutes, staring at the wall, images from the night before playing over and over again in his mind, when he felt Wilson’s arm slide around his waist, heard a quiet, satisfied sigh behind him.

 

“Morning,” Wilson whispered in his ear, voice hoarse with sleep. Then he added cheekily, with a smirk House could hear, “Honey.”

 

Irritated – and even more irritated by the fact that he was _predictably_ irritated by Wilson’s obvious attempt at irritation – House tried to toss Wilson’s arm off and rise from the bed. However, Wilson was apparently stronger than he looked. The younger man kept his arm wrapped firmly around House’s waist, refusing to yield his possessive grasp, holding him close to his side.

 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Wilson informed him in a soft, affectionate voice, lazy with sleep.

 

“Like hell I’m not,” House muttered, taking the words as a challenge and renewing his efforts to get up.

 

His escape attempt was instantly forgotten, however, when he felt the delicious, tantalizing sensation of Wilson’s soft lips, slowly moving over the sensitive skin at the back of his neck. In the suddenly changed context of the situation, the firm but painless restraint of Wilson’s arm around him became erotic rather than irritating.

 

Almost against his will, House felt his body begin to respond to the slow, enticing attentions of Wilson’s mouth. His back arched slightly as he tilted his head back, further exposing his neck to Wilson’s kiss. Wilson’s free hand closed loosely around House’s throat, pulling him back even further as his teeth closed ever so gently over the bared skin of House’s shoulder. The arm at House’s waist shifted downward until Wilson’s hand was cupping House’s steadily swelling erection, then squeezing it slowly.

 

House drew in a sharp breath, anticipation overwhelming apprehension, as Wilson leaned in close to whisper, hot breath in his ear sending a delicious shiver down House’s spine.

 

“ _Now_ …” Wilson rose up to press a light, chaste kiss against House’s temple, before abruptly removing his hands from House’s body and sitting up. “… it’s time to get up.”

 

House blinked, startled by the sudden change in tone, taking a moment to process what Wilson had just done. By the time he recovered enough to roll over and sit up in the bed, Wilson was already up and half-dressed. He sat there for a moment, resting on his hands, watching Wilson get ready through narrowed eyes, as Wilson’s motives sank in for him.

 

 _Even when and how I got up had to be on_ his _terms. He’s really taking this seriously._

 

He swallowed hard, a fluttering sensation of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. He immediately tried to mask it with irritability.

 

“Asshole.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Get up and get dressed. You’re going to work on time for once today.”

 

House was quiet and pensive as they got ready for their day, his mind going over the various implications of everything that had happened in the last few days. Since all he had to do to get ready was to throw on his clothes from the night before, while Wilson had an exhaustive morning regimen to complete before leaving, House was ready long before Wilson – which gave him plenty of time to think.

 

Wilson kept a wary eye on his friend as he got ready, wondering at his quiet, subdued mood. He had expected House to be in ultra-snark mode, especially considering the fairly mean trick Wilson had played on him already this morning. Wilson wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or suspicion.

 

When he was finally ready, he walked briskly to the side of the bed, where House was slowly rising to his feet. Without hesitation, Wilson leaned in to claim House’s mouth in a slow, thorough kiss, one hand at the back of his head drawing him deeper into the kiss… and almost off balance. Wilson laughed softly against House’s mouth as he steadied him, then drew back with an affectionate smile.

 

“Ready?”

 

“For the last half hour. So tell me, does your morning routine include _two_ layers of make-up or three? And what kind of straightening iron do you use on that _gorgeous_ hair?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Wilson tried to enforce the order with another kiss, but House held up a hand between them, holding him back for the moment.

 

“I was thinking…”

 

“Uh oh.”

 

“Shut up,” House echoed with a smirk. “I was thinking… if you’re serious about this whole ‘taking me in hand’ thing… don’t you think it’d work a little better if we were sharing the same living space?”

 

Wilson raised a single eyebrow, eyes narrowed and head tilted slightly in suspicion. “Yes,” he replied in a slow, cautious voice. “Strangely, that _does_ make sense.”

 

“Why don’t you go ahead and pack up your stuff, and check out when we leave?” House suggested, holding Wilson’s gaze, his own suspiciously innocent. “My place is big enough.” He paused, raising both brows a couple of times in an exaggeratedly suggestive look. “Unless you think we’ll be _needing_ an extra bedroom.”

 

Wilson studied House’s face for a long moment, taking a measured, deliberate step forward into friend’s personal space, a cool smile of bemusement on his face. His voice was soft, dangerously even, when he finally replied.

 

“It’s not that your offer’s not… practical, and impressively generous, for you...” he began slowly. “It’s just… I’m sure you realize that you’d be able to get away with so much more, by keeping your place to yourself. Why would you make this offer, when you know it’s just going to limit your freedom to do as you please?”

 

House kept his own expression cautiously neutral, allowing a teasing smile to pass his lips as he gave a disarming shrug. “I don’t know,” he mused. “After last night… I’m beginning to think the benefits of such a living arrangement might outweigh the risks.”

 

What House didn’t share with Wilson was the fact that the offer was merely a pre-emptive strike – an admittedly weak attempt to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. House knew it was only a matter of time before Wilson came up with the idea on his own. He just preferred for the inevitable move to be on _his_ terms, rather than Wilson’s.

 

Wilson seemed oblivious, his cautious smile fading into affectionate acceptance as he rewarded House’s generosity with a tender, grateful kiss.

 

“See?” he remarked as he pulled away, turning toward the dresser to pack his things. “This is working already. You’re already committing random acts of generosity.”

 

The hotel staff were stunned when Dr. Wilson actually checked out, after his pathetically prolonged stay. House and Wilson loaded Wilson’s meager belongings into his car, deciding to leave them there during the day and take them to House’s apartment afterwards.

 

When House reached to open his door in the hospital parking lot, Wilson reached across the seat to grasp his wrist, stopping him. House gave him a questioning look, and Wilson met his gaze with stern, warning eyes.

 

“A few ground rules to start with for today,” he explained in a quiet, serious voice that left no room for argument. “Since my primary concern at this point is getting your addiction under control, anytime you think you need a Vicodin… you’re to come to me and ask.”

 

House’s single raised brow was all he needed to express his opinion of that idea.

 

“Honors system, for today,” Wilson stated with a casual shrug. “I’ll trust you to do as I say. If I find out you haven’t been…” His smile became an almost apologetic grimace. “… there will be consequences.”

 

House let out a rude snort of derision, rolling his eyes as he looked away. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re _so_ scary…”

 

“I _can_ be.” Wilson caught his wrist again, drawing House’s wary gaze sharply back to his solemn, foreboding expression. “If I have to be.” Wilson paused a moment, his tone softening as he clarified, “I don’t want to have to be.”

 

House was silent, for once, at a loss for an appropriate response – or an inappropriate one, for that matter.

 

Wilson’s tone instantly shifted, became casual again, and he ticked off items on his fingers as he added, “You might also want to check with me before taking any action that you might reasonably expect to a) give Cuddy a heart attack, b) get you physically attacked by a patient or family member, or c) cost the hospital anywhere over $100,000 in settlement money.”

 

“Ninety-five grand, though,” House observed with a smirk. “That’d be acceptable.”

 

“Actually,” Wilson countered, his expression solemn despite House’s attempt at humor, “it wouldn’t.” He was quiet for a moment, looking House over speculatively. “Are we clear?”

 

House rolled his eyes again, heaving an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. “Fine. Okay.”

 

Of course, he had no actual intention of following Wilson’s rules, regardless of his promise. He didn’t really have to, as long as he could make it _appear_ that he was following them.

 

House didn’t have a patient that day, so _not_ getting into trouble with Cuddy or bringing a lawsuit down on the hospital was fairly simple. Getting away with taking his Vicodin, however, was a slightly greater challenge.

 

It really just came down to good acting, and a little bit of forethought.

 

House made a trip down the hall to Wilson’s office a couple of hours into the day, poking his head around the door just long enough to ask pointedly, “Now?”

 

Wilson gave him a slightly incredulous look as he glanced at his watch. “Not yet,” he answered simply.

 

House gave a token protest – because it wouldn’t have been believable if he’d just accepted Wilson’s decision. He then returned to his own office, grumbling all the way, before walking into the conference room, to an area not visible from Wilson’s office… and promptly popping a Vicodin.

 

A couple of hours later, he went back again, deliberately making his limp a bit more pronounced, trying a little harder to convince Wilson to allow him to take a pill. This time, Wilson relented – and House triumphantly took another pill. This went on for the rest of the day, and House felt that he played his role very well.

 

At the end of the day, he was silently congratulating himself for his successful deception of his self-appointed conscience, when said conscience walked into his office.

 

“Ready to go?” Wilson asked. His voice was light and calm, giving House every indication that his ruse had gone off without a hitch.

 

“Yeah,” House replied, shouldering his backpack and heading toward the office door.

 

Wilson stayed where he was, his hand shooting out to grasp House’s arm firmly as he tried to walk past him, pushing him back a few steps and meeting his eyes with a cool, even perception that made House’s stomach drop slightly. He knew, even before Wilson spoke.

 

 _He knows._

 

“Just… one thing, first.” Wilson was smiling, his tone and expression disarming. “Let me see your pills.”

 

House swallowed hard, fighting back a sense of fear and uncertainty, reminding himself over and over that this was just _Wilson_ ; there was nothing to be afraid of. Just because Wilson thought himself to be all tough and intimidating all of a sudden did not make it so. House squared his shoulders as he reached into his pocket and took out the prescription bottle, holding it out to Wilson as he held his gaze with an air of defiance.

 

Wilson poured the pills out into his hand, counting them quickly – and House’s heart sank with understanding. Wilson must have counted his pills that morning, while he was still asleep.

 

Wilson poured the pills from his palm back into the bottle as he looked up at House with a calm, false smile. When Wilson put the bottle in his own pocket, House reached out to intercept it with a cry of protest.

 

“Hey!” You can’t just…”

 

House’s words broke off abruptly when Wilson caught his wrist, jerking House closer to him, and the furious fire in his dark eyes made House’s mouth go dry.

 

Wilson’s voice was quiet, completely in control, as he softly stated, “When we get home, we will deal with this. There is _going_ to be a punishment. For your disobedience, and for lying to me.”

 

House opened his mouth to respond, though he wasn’t sure whether he was going to offer an apology, an explanation, or an emphatic order for Wilson to go screw himself. Neither of them would ever know what his response would have been, because Wilson cut him off before he could speak.

 

“Don’t say anything. Don’t apologize. Don’t say a word until we get back to the apartment. Just start walking toward the car.”

 

There was a tense moment during which both wondered whether or not House would obey – and then, remarkably, he did. As Wilson released his arm, House started toward the door, followed closely by his furious friend. Not sure how Wilson might react if he spoke, House wisely kept his mouth shut as they made their way to the car, and during the tense drive home as well, though his demeanor was defiant and sullen.

 

It was a pointless front, however; both men knew very well that he was just trying to conceal how afraid he really was.

 

When they reached House’s apartment, Wilson insisted on bringing his things in first. House offered to help, picking up a bag and starting toward his room. Wilson immediately stopped him, taking the bag from his hand and taking a slow, deliberate step into House’s space, one hand snaking up his back to rest at the back of his neck in a possessive, dominant gesture.

 

“No,” Wilson stated in a low, dangerous tone. “I’m going to unpack… and you’re going to stay here.” He edged closer, his voice lowering to just over a whisper. “You’re going to take off your clothes… and get on your knees, right there…” He gestured to a spot next to the sofa. “… and wait for me. I’ll put my things away… and be right back.”

 

House’s breath quickened, and Wilson could feel the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders trembling under his hand, even as House raised his chin in subtle defiance.

 

“What makes you think I’ll…”

 

“If you’d rather not,” Wilson cut him off sharply, releasing him abruptly and picking up his suitcases, taking a pointed step toward the door. “I can go…”

 

“No.”

 

Wilson stopped, turning back to face House again with a questioning challenge in his eyes. House didn’t move, didn’t speak again, but Wilson could see the defeat in his eyes, knew that he had already won. He moved close to House again, his hand fisting the hair at the back of House’s neck this time, pulling his head back slightly as he reiterated his command.

 

“Undressed… and on your knees… when I get back.”

 

Wilson took his time carrying his suitcases into House’s bedroom, and unloading them into two of the four drawers in House’s dresser. He deliberately prolonged the process, taking as long as possible to draw out the tension, to amplify House’s apprehensions and make the punishment more effective – and also, in a vain attempt to settle his own nerves.

 

The simple truth of the matter was… Wilson was terrified.

 

He had never done this before, really, and wasn’t really sure how to go about it. He was amazed that House had gone along with everything so well, so far. He was not surprised that House had defied him when it came to his Vicodin; he _was_ surprised, on the other hand, that House had chosen to stick around for the punishment. As he thought about how much his friendship had to mean to House, to be worth this sort of humiliation, Wilson felt his resolve softening.

 

 _No… If this is going to work, you’re going to have to be firm… show him you mean it… You can’t back down, not now… not when things are going so well…_

 

Wilson’s hands shook as he unpacked a wide, brown leather belt, holding it in both hands and staring at it, swallowing convulsively. The thought crossed his mind that it was a very fortunate thing that he was a doctor, and therefore able to judge how far he could go without doing any actual damage.

 

As he headed for the bedroom door, he steeled himself for whatever reaction House might have to his disciplinary method of choice. He expected House’s derision, his immediate refusal to go along with it… expected House to laugh in his face… half-expected him to get up and walk out on the pathetic joke that was Wilson as a dominant partner.

 

What he didn’t expect, what caught him completely off guard, was the abject terror in House’s wide eyes when he saw the belt hanging from Wilson’s hand. House’s face visibly paled, and he looked up at Wilson through stunned, disbelieving eyes, his lips parted in an expression of shock and dismay.

 

“You’ve got to learn that you can’t lie to me, House. You can’t completely disregard my orders. Not if this is going to work.”

 

Wilson slowly explained, keeping his voice carefully even and firm, despite his renewed desire to drop the belt, drop the assertive façade, drop the whole ridiculous thing and help House up off his knees. The fear in House’s eyes was more than a little disconcerting. He was focused so intently on the belt, shaking his head slightly in denial or disbelief or… or pleading…

 

“Wilson,” House whispered, meeting his eyes with something resembling panic. “You’re not really going to… I mean… you wouldn’t…”

 

“You brought this on yourself, House,” Wilson stated, averting his gaze slightly, unable to remain firm while looking into House’s dangerously expressive blue eyes. “You agreed to this arrangement, and you knew there would be consequences if you failed to obey the rules.”

 

“I… I know,” House whispered, staring at the belt again, and Wilson felt a strange, sick quiver in the pit of his stomach at the tremor he heard in House’s stricken voice. “Just… not… not…”

 

“Stop talking.”

 

Wilson forced himself to harden his voice, closing his eyes momentarily as he issued the command. He had no choice, really; if House said another word, he was afraid he would not be able to go through with this.

 

House was obediently silent, and Wilson walked around to stand behind him, out of his line of vision. He raised the belt in his hand, swinging it slightly, experimentally, judging its weight and thickness, and the amount of power he would have to use to leave a somewhat painful mark – a welt that would last a day or two and remind House of the reason why he bore it – without causing him any actual permanent injury.

 

Wilson’s stomach lurched when House flinched at the sound of the leather slicing through the air. The sick feeling in his stomach intensified, and he found himself wondering at House’s strange and troubling reaction.

 

 _This isn’t like him. He should be squaring his shoulders and acting like this is nothing, no matter_ how _scared he is. He shouldn’t be allowing himself to show so much weakness – he_ wouldn’t _be – not if he could help it…_

A vague, horrifying understanding began to form in Wilson’s mind, coupled with a quiet, protective rage, as he considered the possible explanations for why the thought of a simple spanking with an ordinary belt could bring a grown man to such a state.

 

None of those explanations were at all pleasant.

 

“Wilson… _please_ …”

 

That was it.

 

Wilson was undone.

 

“Damn it, House.”

 

He muttered the words under his breath in frustration and concerned affection as he dropped the belt to the floor, then dropped to his knees beside his friend, instinctively wrapping his arms around him, though he knew that under other circumstances House would have immediately refused the gesture.

 

As it was, House was tense, trembling, neither pulling away from nor responding to Wilson’s gentle embrace.

 

“What the hell, House?” Wilson asked in quiet bewilderment. “What’s so scary about a little bit of simple discipline? I wasn’t going to _really_ hurt you, you have to know that…”

 

House just shook his head, his eyes closed, his head lowered, swallowing hard in an attempt to control his own reaction.

 

“I know,” he answered in a low, trembling voice. “I know… it’s just…” After a moment’s silence, he shook his head, unable or unwilling to explain further.

 

“Okay,” Wilson relented, pulling House close to him again. “I’m not sure I understand, but I won’t touch you with the belt, I promise. Okay?”

 

House nodded almost eagerly, his shoulders slumping slightly with relief.

 

Shaken by the troubling encounter, Wilson held him a few moments longer, though he wasn’t sure whether it was more for House’s benefit, or for his own. House, for his part, remained unresponsive, submitting to the embrace mostly because he felt he should, more than because of any actual comfort he was taking from it.

 

“But from now on,” Wilson went on sternly after a few minutes, determined to salvage the situation, “ _I’ll_ hold your pills. You want one, you’ll have to get it from me.”

 

House hesitated, before nodding slowly, reluctantly. Wilson’s guilt intensified as he realized that House would probably have agreed to anything at that point, if he thought it would prevent the use of the belt; but he could see the sullen disapproval in House’s downcast eyes, knew that this particular decision would certainly be a source of contention between them later on.

 

He paused a moment, unsure if he should go on, before adding gently, “And… you will still be punished for this, later. You need to know that. Not with the belt, because… well, I just can’t see that ending well. But… somehow. I just… have to figure out exactly how.” Wilson sighed, lowering his head and covering his eyes with his hand momentarily as he tried to think of the solution… and failed.

 

It would require more consideration than he could give it at the moment.

 

“For now,” he continued, rising carefully to his feet, and gently pulling a shaken, subdued House up with him, “let’s just have some dinner, relax, adjust…” He met House’s eyes in a solemn, firm gaze that left no doubt as to his sincerity as he concluded, “But you know we’re not through here, House. You still have a punishment coming for today. This is _not_ over."


	6. Rebellion

_“This is_ not _over.”_

 

Wilson’s words echoed in House’s mind as Wilson tried to reassure him, resulting only in making House feel more self-conscious and uneasy than he had earlier. His stomach was a mass of tangled, quivering knots, as the image of Wilson standing in the bedroom doorway with the belt hanging from his hand filled his mind, in spite of Wilson’s promises never to even suggest using it again.

 

 _Not over? The hell it isn’t! This is most_ definitely _over – all of it._

The mere threat of the belt was enough to make House seriously rethink his arrangement with Wilson. Even the idea of losing Wilson’s friendship for good seemed like a worthy sacrifice in light of the danger in which he had almost found himself. Despite the risk – House was quite certain that he didn’t want to go through with this anymore. The whole situation was frightening and confusing, and required far more openness and vulnerability than he was willing to give.

The next morning, House woke up before Wilson, and quietly got ready for work in the stillness of the living room so as not to awaken his friend. He took his motorcycle to work, stunning Cuddy when he made his way through the clinic toward her office fifteen minutes before he was due to arrive.

 

“Good… morning.” She greeted him in a slow, cautious voice, giving him an appraising look as he sat down in the chair across from her desk. “Dare I ask what I can do for you?”

 

House passed on the obvious opportunity to make a lewd joke at her expense, instead jumping straight to the point. “I need a favor.”

 

“What kind of a favor?” Cuddy asked, a single brow raised in suspicion.

 

“I need you to write me a Vicodin scrip.”

 

“Wilson writes your prescriptions,” Cuddy stated unnecessarily. “You can’t wait…” She glanced at her watch. “… ten minutes until he gets here?”

 

“So picky about minor details,” House whined impatiently. “I’m out, and I need more, and I don’t see why I should have to spend the next ten minutes in pain just because Wilson’s work ethic isn’t as strong as mine…”

 

“Give it up, House.” Cuddy’s suspicions faded into a knowing smirk. “I’ve already talked to Wilson, and I know what you’re up to.”

 

“That’s great,” House replied dubiously, an uneasy feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach. “Mind enlightening _me_?”

 

“He told me all about the new rehab regimen you’re starting,” Cuddy clarified, her smirk shifting into a warm, pleased smile. “And I’ve got to say, I’m impressed. I’m very proud of you that you’re trying to quit, House. That’s great.” Her smile faded, her expression and tone becoming serious as she added a bit more sternly, “But if it’s going to work at all, you’re going to have to stick to it. You can’t be going behind his back looking for extra pills.”

 

House was stunned, his mind racing as he tried to figure out the implications of her words. “I’m not…”

 

“Don’t even try it, House. Wilson told me he’s monitoring your pills, and warned me that as you start to withdraw from your usual dosage, you’ll be looking for a way to get more.” Cuddy shook her head slowly with a sympathetic but unyielding smile. “I’m not going to write you a prescription and mess up the good decision you’ve made.”

 

The pieces fell together in his mind, and House realized that Wilson had planned to commandeer his Vicodin supply from the beginning. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he got up without another word and made his way swiftly out of Cuddy’s office and toward his own. As he left, he did not noticed Cuddy picking up her phone and swiftly dialing an extension as she watched him go.

 

When he reached the conference room, he nodded to Cameron before heading into the privacy of his own office, and she followed him there. House wasted no time in making his request, though he knew immediately the answer he would receive, when he saw the discomfort in her averted gaze as she stumbled over her response.

 

“Cuddy… just called here, not five minutes ago. She specifically said that… any one of us who wrote you a Vicodin prescription would be immediately terminated,” Cameron admitted, nervous and apologetic. “I’m sorry, House. I would, but… I can’t.”

 

House swore quietly under his breath, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. He didn’t bother to ask Foreman or Chase, knowing perfectly well that neither of them would risk Cuddy’s wrath to fill the prescription for him. Cameron had been his best shot, and even she had not been willing to go so far as to sacrifice her job for his addiction.

 

Wilson had deliberately set things up so that House had no choice but to go to _him_ for his pills.

 

By the time House reached Wilson’s office, Wilson was already there and getting his morning agenda in order. House raised his cane and recklessly swept it across Wilson’s desk, scattering papers and office supplies everywhere.

 

“Give me my damn pills,” he demanded in a low, warning voice.

 

Wilson looked up at him, quiet, angry surprise in his eyes. “I think you’d better pick those up, House,” he suggested softly.

 

“I think _you’d_ better give me my Vicodin before I knock something off that’s a little more important to you than your paperwork,” House retorted. “I’m in pain, Wilson. You can’t just keep them away from me…”

 

“I had no intention of keeping them away from you,” Wilson informed him with a quiet, ironic laugh. “Not completely, anyway. I was going to give you one as soon as I woke up… but you weren’t there when I woke up, so…”

 

The use of past tense verbs was not lost on House, who stood there in silence for a moment, considering. “You _were_ ,” he echoed quietly. “But now…?”

 

“Now,” Wilson nodded slowly, thoughtfully, before meeting House’s eyes with a rueful grimace. “Now, I think you’d better pick up the mess you just made, and apologize, if you expect to get _anything_ from me.”

 

Seething with fury and frustration, House stood there, his hand trembling around the handle of his cane as he glared at Wilson’s impassive face. Finally, he snarled in a voice that shook with indignant rage, “I don’t need _anything_ from you, and I’m not about to apologize.”

 

Wilson’s smile was sad, knowing. “No, I… didn’t really think that you would.” He paused a moment, before adding patiently, “But when you change your mind, feel free to come back and talk about it. And I know you _will_ change your mind.”

 

“Because I’ll be in pain,” House pointed out, disgusted accusation in his voice. “And you’re perfectly okay with that.”

 

“No, I’m really not.” Wilson’s eyes became clouded with concern as he sighed. “But all it’ll take is a simple apology.”

 

Knowing Wilson well enough to know that he was not about to yield on this issue, House stood there just a moment longer in frustration, trying to think of a way to get what he wanted – _needed_ – and failing. He slammed his way out of Wilson’s office with a quiet curse, storming down the hallway toward his own office. He was determined not to give Wilson the satisfaction of reducing him to begging for his pills – and he was also determined _not_ to apologize.

 

 _Wilson_ was the one who was out of line.

 

For the rest of the day, House alternated between deliberately avoiding Wilson to prove how little he cared that Wilson was withholding his Vicodin, and doing what he could to make Wilson’s day miserable, to get him to give in. As the day wore on endlessly, his pain gradually increased until he could think of nothing else. Desperation drove him to lengths of petulant aggression that neither Wilson nor House had imagined he might reach.

 

Wilson returned from a three-hour stretch in the clinic near the end of the day to find House in the process of virtually destroying his office. His shelves full of books and gifts from patients were empty, their former contents littering the floor around them. The papers and files and other items on his desk were scattered on the floor, the contents of his half-full cup of coffee very deliberately poured over them. At the moment when Wilson opened his door, House was ripping an entire file in half.

 

Both men froze, staring at each other for a long moment. Then Wilson turned away for a moment, and silently locked the door, before facing House again with unsettling calm.

 

“I think you’d better clean this up.”

 

House let out a rude, scoffing sound, trying not to show how Wilson’s unusually quiet, even voice unnerved him. “You must be a little confused,” he retorted. “See, I’m in the process of _making_ the mess in the first place – and the whole point is that _you’ll_ have to clean it up, so…”

 

“I’m sorry,” Wilson interrupted with a deceptive smile, and House tensed as Wilson started casually toward him. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. Let me rephrase.” As he spoke, he closed the distance between House and himself, then took a step further, forcing House back against his desk. His voice lowered dangerously, he repeated in a tone of quiet command.

 

“ _Clean this up_.”

 

House hesitated a moment, studying Wilson’s expression and trying to gauge whether or not he was in any real danger. A couple of days ago, he wouldn’t have wondered. As it was, however, he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever known his best friend at all. After a moment’s tense consideration, House’s jaw set stubbornly, and he replied in a voice of cautious challenge.

 

“Give me my Vicodin… and I will.”

 

Wilson looked him over appraisingly, taking in his condition – and his expression visibly softened when he saw the way House was shaking, his shoulders taut, his face lined with the pain of going nearly the entire day without a single pill. Still, there was no apology in Wilson’s quiet voice when he spoke again.

 

“You could have had your Vicodin hours ago, House,” he stated. “A simple apology isn’t so hard. Now, though… now we’re far beyond that point, unfortunately.”

 

Those cryptic words made House’s stomach feel a little queasy, as he tried to decipher what Wilson might mean. Defiant, he demanded, “So, what? It’s too late for sorry? I’m gonna be ‘punished’, regardless? Yeah.” House shook his head, his trademark smirk in place. “Only if I choose to let that happen. Wanna make a bet on whether or not I will?”

 

Wilson stared at him for a long moment, anger warring with sympathy in his eyes – but he did not answer House’s question.

 

Finally, with a weary sigh, Wilson walked around his desk – ending the tension of the moment, but not House’s confusion and anxiety – to open a drawer and take out the key to his office. He rarely used it, because he rarely bothered to lock the door; but apparently, he had no intention of waiting around for House to clean up the mess he’d made, and didn’t want to risk Cuddy or anyone else walking in while he was gone and finding the disaster that was left of the room.

 

“Come on.” Wilson nodded toward the door as he picked up his briefcase. “Let’s go home.”

 

House let out another rude snort, raising an eyebrow in Wilson’s direction. “I’m not going _anywhere_ with you,” he declared.

 

“You think you’re in any condition to ride your bike home?” Wilson pointed out. “I know you’re in pain, House. I’ll drive.” He paused, a slight, wicked smile rising to his lips as he turned toward the door. “Besides, I don’t think you really want to go all night without your Vicodin, after going all day already – do you?”

 

Trapped and apprehensive, House wanted to refuse the offer; but his throbbing leg screamed at him to accept it. Wilson had effectively shut him off from any other sources of Vicodin. The frustrating truth was that if he wanted to get to his pills any time soon, going home with Wilson was his best bet – not that he had any intention of yielding to Wilson’s demands for apology.

 

No, finding a way to sneak the pills out of Wilson’s possession was more what House had in mind.

 

By the time they reached the car, parked far across the lot in Wilson’s non-handicapped space, House was visibly shaking, his face pale and drawn with pain. Wilson watched him with grim concern as he opened his car door for House and waited for him to get in, before closing it firmly. House’s eyes were closed, leaning back against the headrest, and he didn’t seem to notice.

 

The first few minutes of the drive were quiet and tense. House was in too much pain – not to mention too sullen and angry with Wilson – to want to make conversation. Wilson, for his part, wasn’t sure what he could say that would actually get through to his friend… but he was desperate to come up with _something_.

 

“You know, it doesn’t have to be like this,” he reminded House at last, with forced patience. “You find it within your capability to apologize for your behavior today, and I’ll give you a Vicodin, House. Hell, I’ll give you two. You’ve gone _all day_ without them.”

 

 _And I never meant for that to happen…_

 

“You just have to understand that you can’t just behave any way you like, and expect it to work just like it always has. Things are going to be different now. They _have_ to be…”

 

 _Because I can’t stand to watch you nearly kill yourself again…_

“I’m doing this because I care about you, House. And the sooner you stop fighting me on every little detail… the sooner it can start to work. I _know_ it can.”

 

 _Please,_ please _just trust me…just let me help you…_

“All you’ve got to do is just show a little maturity… and I’m willing to forget this whole day, like it never happened. I’ll give you the Vicodin tonight… and tomorrow, on schedule… like you _agreed_ …” Wilson reminded him pointedly, glancing at House before returning his eyes to the road. “And this time, we’ll forget all about any kind of punishments or consequences or anything like that. All right?”

 

No response.

 

“House?”

 

Wilson frowned as he glanced at House again. The older man was staring out the side window, a thoughtful expression on his face. He returned Wilson’s gaze with a maliciously mischievous smirk, and Wilson knew before House spoke that he wasn’t going to like his answer.

 

“I’m sorry,” House replied with false innocence. “Did you say something?”

 

That was when Wilson’s concerned frustration began to shift to indignant irritation… and then, as he considered the situation more fully, finally… outright anger.

 

“Fine,” he snapped, shoulders straightening as he focused on the road in front of him. “You want it that way? That’s fine with me, House. _Go_ all night without your meds. Go the rest of your damn life for all I care! Suffer. It’s up to you. You’re the one bringing this on yourself.”

 

House stubbornly refused to reply. Wilson wondered briefly why he wasn’t retorting with some scathing comment as usual, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. A regretful pang struck him at the tense set of House’s mouth, the way he was leaning back against the headrest again, eyes closed in an attempt to shut out the pain. Realization left Wilson conflicted with guilt and determination, as the reason for House’s silence occurred to him at last.

 

 _He’s in too much pain to think of a comeback… God, this is the_ last _thing I wanted… this is never going to work…_

 

When they arrived home, it was all Wilson could do not to offer House his assistance, despite the fact that he knew, at this point, House would certainly refuse it. It was almost physically painful to Wilson to watch him limp on trembling legs, much more slowly than usual, up the sidewalk to his apartment.

 

Once they were inside, however, Wilson couldn’t resist one last attempt at reason.

 

“House…”

 

“Screw you.”

 

House cut him off sharply, not pausing on the way to the bedroom, slamming the door emphatically behind him. Wilson stood there for a long moment, dumbfounded, and struggling to think of some way of salvaging the situation.

 

**************************

 

An hour later, House sat on the edge of his bed, slowly rubbing his thigh, struggling to think past the pain, to come up with a way of getting past Wilson’s guard and to his much-needed Vicodin. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t come up with a plan, and found himself just sitting there helplessly, fighting back the tears of frustration and sheer agony that sprang to his eyes.

 

And the worst of it was… he knew that Wilson was at least partially right. He had agreed to everything Wilson had tried to do so far. It was just so hard – as in _impossible_ – to allow himself to trust the management of his pain to anyone besides himself. He knew Wilson meant well, but how could he possibly know how to decide when he needed more Vicodin? How could Wilson know how much pain he was in, and when?

 

The idea of surrendering control to Wilson _was_ tempting, in many ways – but it was also terrifying.

 

 _He says he cares… says it’s all for my good… but… what does he_ really _want?_

Every nerve on edge from the pain, House started with a violent jerk when the door abruptly slammed open. He looked up to see Wilson standing in the doorway, glaring at him through dark, stormy eyes full of barely bridled anger. House tensed as Wilson stalked toward him, bracing himself for the violence he saw in every facet of Wilson’s expression, carriage, demeanor.

 

“You know for a genius, you can be a real idiot sometimes.”

 

Wilson’s voice was low, seething with frustration as he stopped directly in front of House, staring down at him and taking in the violent shaking of his pain-racked body, the trembling tension in his shoulders as he steeled himself for whatever attack he expected Wilson to throw at him.

 

When Wilson reached out abruptly to grasp House’s wrist, jerking him forward slightly, House flinched – and that only served to increase Wilson’s anger.

 

“Damn it, House, would you _try_ to trust me for a second? I’m not going to hit you.”

 

Embarrassed by his own reaction, House kept his eyes focused sullenly on his knees, pulling slightly against Wilson’s grip on his wrist.

 

“Just get out,” he demanded in a low, shaking voice. “Leave me alone.”

 

“Shut up and listen for a second instead of assuming you know what I’m going to say and do before _I_ do,” Wilson snapped, his free hand moving to harshly, angrily press something into House’s open palm, then closing his hand around it.

 

House looked up at Wilson, startled, as his hand recognized the feel of the objects in his hand, without the benefit of sight.

 

“Take your damn pills,” Wilson ordered, and the resentful fury in his voice made House look away self-consciously.

 

Wilson reached down with his free hand to catch House’s chin and force his head up again, silently demanding eye contact. House felt a strange lurching sensation in his stomach as he finally registered the other emotions in Wilson’s eyes, beyond the immediate anger. Wilson’s dark eyes were brimming with tears, filled with concern and sympathy and the agony of his conflicting emotions.

 

House’s voice was halting, low and unsteady, as he asked, “So… no apology necessary, then? Because that’s _so_ not happening…”

 

The tone of his voice, however, made it clear that he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. A little longer, Wilson was sure, and House would have caved, offering the apology Wilson had demanded earlier.

 

It didn’t matter. Wilson couldn’t stand to wait any longer.

 

“I don’t want you in pain, House.” Wilson’s voice trembled as he held House’s gaze firmly, refusing to let him look away. “I’m trying to _help_ you… not hurt you. The whole point of all this is that I can’t stand to see you hurting yourself. You think it’s any better when you decide to use _me_ as your weapon of choice?”

 

Stunned by that way of viewing the situation, House swallowed hard, a suspicious lump forming in his throat.

 

“Take them.” Wilson nodded toward House’s closed hand, releasing it. “Everything else… we’ll deal with later.”

 

House hesitated a moment, before nodding shakily, his shoulders slumping with relief. He raised his hand eagerly to his mouth, dry-swallowing the pills quickly, closing his eyes and letting out a deep, shaky breath at the knowledge that relief was soon coming.

 

“You agreed to this, House.” Wilson’s voice was quiet, trembling with emotion, as he reminded House of their arrangement. “You said you’d give this a try. That can’t be, just until I ask you to do something you don’t want to do, or just until you change your mind on a whim.”

 

Shaken by the ordeal the day had become, as well as the quiet, emotional intensity of Wilson’s words, House nodded slowly, eyes downcast.

 

“I know.”

 

“You can’t say you’re going to submit, and then do whatever you want anyway – and you can’t just freak out and back out of everything the second a punishment is in order. If that’s the way it’s going to be, this whole thing is pointless.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And we still have to deal with your disrespect and disobedience these past two days,” Wilson insisted. “House… you will have to be punished at some point… somehow…”

 

“I know.”

 

House was silent for a moment, before suddenly looking up at Wilson again, and Wilson was stunned to see the sheen of tears in House’s eyes, and a certain openness he was unaccustomed to seeing there. House’s voice was hoarse, halting as he added a soft, tentative question.

 

“Just… please… not tonight?”

 

The tremulous words, the desperate need for reassurance Wilson saw in House’s eyes, touched his heart with a pang of sympathy and regret for the unintentional ordeal House had been through that day.

 

“Okay,” he softly agreed, reaching out a gentle hand to slowly rub the tension from House’s taut shoulders. “Not tonight.”

 

After a few minutes of thoughtful, almost comfortable silence between them, the combined effect of Wilson’s soothing touch and the double dose of Vicodin began to take effect, and House’s head nodded slightly with impending sleep. Wilson felt himself softening further to his friend’s plight, as he realized how fully exhausted House had to be.

 

“Come on,” he murmured, one steadying hand at House’s back, the other moving to unbutton his shirt. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

 

“I can do it,” House half-heartedly protested.

 

“I know.”

 

But Wilson didn’t stop undressing him… and House didn’t really seem to mind all that much.

 

Once House was ready for bed, Wilson pulled the covers back on the bed, then drew them up over House’s body with tender care. By the time Wilson had gotten himself ready for bed as well, House was nearly asleep. Wilson slid under the blankets with House, wrapping a gentle arm around him and pulling him close, gratified when House settled into his embrace, rather than resisting it.

 

 _Good… then, not_ too _much damage done today…_

 

Wilson frowned, troubled by his thoughts.

 

 _But that was awfully close. Tomorrow,_ he decided as he began to drift off to sleep himself, _we’re going to have to sit down and have a long,_ long _talk about all of this. Neither of us really meant for it to happen, but today turned into a nightmare… and I can’t stand to hurt him again._


	7. Contract

When Wilson awakened the next morning, he was disappointed, but not surprised, to find that House was already gone.

 

Again.

 

He sighed as he got out of bed, staring at the empty place on the nightstand where he had left two pills for House to take when he woke up. Before he fell asleep the night before, Wilson had felt more than a little guilty about the way things had gone that day, and had wanted to be sure that House didn’t spend any time in pain the following morning.

 

He hadn’t really intended to give House the means to make his escape the very first chance he got.

 

Wilson went to his closet and got dressed in morose silence, trying not to give in to the dark mood that threatened to overcome him. He was deeply frustrated and disappointed, though he wasn’t sure what he’d expected, after the mess he’d made of the day before.

 

 _And today looks like it’s going to be no better._

 

Wilson’s mood was grim when he arrived at the hospital and made his way to his office, fighting the impulse to go by House’s office first and see if he was there. Resolutely, he inserted his key in the door with a heavy sigh of resignation.

 

 _When he wants to talk to me…_ if _he wants to talk to me… he’ll find me._

 

When the door fell open, however, Wilson froze, stunned by the unexpected sight that met his eyes.

 

House was kneeling on the floor, his back turned toward the door. The wastebasket from under Wilson’s desk was pulled out beside him, and he was tossing coffee-stained papers and ruined notepads into the garbage. As Wilson watched, he picked up a small stack of textbooks and turned to place them on the desk.

 

House went still when he saw Wilson standing in the doorway, returning his startled gaze for a long moment before he finally spoke.

 

“Well, hurry up and shut the door before someone else walks in and gets their mind blown by the fact that I’m actually doing something decent,” he demanded irritably, nodding toward the open door.

 

Still a little stunned by the surreal scene before him, Wilson turned and silently closed the door. When he turned back toward House, the older man had already gone back to cleaning up the mess he had made the day before. He gathered an armload of the scattered office supplies he had raked from Wilson’s desk, then tried to brace himself against the desk and get to his feet.

 

Of course, between the awkward load in his arms, and his injured leg, it was impossible.

 

All traces of his bad mood forgotten, Wilson made his way swiftly to House’s side, reaching down to catch his arms and steady him as he gently pulled him to his feet. House looked up at him as he rose, in a brief unguarded moment of vulnerability and uncertainty – and Wilson felt an overwhelming surge of warmth and affection for him.

 

Ignoring the office supplies in House’s arms, he pushed him firmly but gently back against the wall behind the desk, capturing his parted lips in a deep, intense kiss that spoke clearly of his fervent affection for House and approval for his actions. House tensed at first, troubled by his disadvantage due to his arms being occupied – but then, Wilson felt the taut muscles of House’s arms relax under his grip, as the older man began to return his kiss.

 

His desire stirred as much by House’s somewhat helpless position as by his response to the kiss, Wilson’s hands shifted slowly down House’s arms to his sides, stopping at the untucked hem of his shirt and sliding upward again, under the soft, rumpled fabric. A thrill of arousal shot through him when he felt House’s slight shudder at the skin-to-skin contact.

 

After a moment, however, House pulled his mouth away from Wilson’s with an effort – the only resistance he could offer at the moment. Wilson backed off a bit, his hands stilling on the warm, soft skin of House’s stomach as he gave him a slightly impatient, questioning look.

 

“What?”

 

Breathless, House took a moment to respond. “Thought we were going to keep this quiet at work,” he reminded Wilson with a pointed glance toward the door. “Don’t you think you should lock the door?”

 

Wilson let out an almost giddy, reckless laugh, leaning in to steal another brief, forceful kiss before pulling back to shake his head with a shrug. “Right now, House… I really don’t care if the entire population of the hospital is watching every second via hidden camera.”

 

House gave him an amused smirk, shrugging slightly. “Well, now that you mention it… there’s something I forgot to tell you…”

 

Wilson’s response to House’s somewhat awkward joke was nothing more than a soft smile. “I’m just so… proud of you right now, House. So… so glad that you chose to do this… on your _own_ …”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” House rolled his eyes, clearly uncomfortable with the unfamiliar praise. “And now you’re making me regret it. Would you just shut up and…?”

 

Wilson cut off House’s protest with another kiss, his tongue pressing past House’s lips and smothering his words, changing them into a muffled, appreciative moan. Wilson’s right hand slid downward, fingertips running just under House’s waistband, while his other hand cupped the swelling bulge in the front of House’s jeans. House’s back arched slightly as he let out a low groan of desire against Wilson’s mouth, making a token effort to hold onto the items in his arms before suddenly giving up and letting them fall to the floor with a clatter as his hands came to rest on Wilson’s waist, drawing him closer.

 

Abruptly, Wilson pulled away, giving House a secretive smile before heading toward the door. House let out a wordless sound of protest, watching in bewildered frustration as Wilson slowly, deliberately locked the door and drew the blinds on the windows, then turned to face him again.

 

Understanding became mockery in House’s eyes as he sneered in a voice that trembled with mingled confusion and desire. “Oh, right. _Now_ you care if someone walks in…”

 

“Yeah.” Wilson’s breath quickened as he approached House again, giving him a slow up-and-down look of unmasked hunger. “Because now…” He stopped in front of House, holding his gaze intently as he sank slowly to his knees in front of him. “… I’m about to do something to you that would cost us more than a little embarrassment. This could cost us our _jobs_.”

 

House stared down through wide, wondering eyes, as Wilson’s hands came to rest at his hips, gliding unhurriedly down his thighs before rising again to slowly, deliberately unfasten House’s jeans.

 

“Somehow,” House gasped, breathless again. “That just makes it hotter.”

 

And a moment later, he was beyond conscious thought, as the searing heat of Wilson’s mouth drew him into a world where there was only pleasurable sensation.

 

**************************

 

Once House recovered from Wilson’s considerably talented ministrations, Wilson helped him clean up the rest of the mess, and they proceeded with their day as usual. His patient successfully cured, House showed up in Wilson’s office ten minutes before the end of the day.

 

“Hungry?” he asked with a smile to which Wilson was completely unaccustomed.

 

Wilson returned it, feeling far more optimistic about his plan than he had felt at the beginning of the day. “Yeah.” He nodded, then hesitated before continuing, “But, um… after we eat… we need to sit down and talk.”

 

House rolled his eyes with a weary sigh. “Do we _have_ to?” he whined. “You’re so much better at _not_ talking.”

 

Missing the double entendre at first, thinking only of his multiple lectures toward House during the course of their friendship, Wilson raised a dubious eyebrow. “Really?”

 

With a knowing, lecherous grin, House confirmed, “ _Really_.”

 

Finally catching House’s meaning, Wilson tried and failed to suppress a smug grin. After a moment he relented with a shrug. “Okay, yeah. I guess I am.” As House let out a low, dark chuckle at his words, Wilson’s smile faded into something more serious. “But seriously, House… we need to talk. I’ve… come up with a plan – a more _specific_ plan – I think we should go over. It should keep things from… well, from getting so out of hand, like they did yesterday.” At House’s wary, apprehensive look, he hurried to add, “It’s not… carved in stone. It’s just an idea. Only if you agree to it. Okay?”

 

After a moment’s hesitation, House replied in an exasperated, put-upon voice. “Fine. Okay. But I’m _not_ wearing a dog collar, and under no circumstances will I call you ‘Master’. That’s where I draw the line.”

 

“Only there?” Wilson glanced over his shoulder with a wicked wink as he led the way out of his office. “Oh, goody.”

 

House paused for a moment, watching Wilson walk ahead of him before finally following again, shaking his head dubiously.

 

“Okay, _now_ you’re freaking me out.”

 

*******************************

 

“All right. So, I’ve printed this up into a… a contract of sorts. Anything you don’t like, we can scratch out and change, whatever. I don’t mind. We _both_ have to like the finished product.” Wilson’s voice was higher than usual and a little shaky as he picked up the single-spaced page from the coffee table and prepared to read it. “I’ll just… go over it first, and we can talk about it, and then if you want, you can read through it yourself and make sure you approve. Okay?”

 

House just smirked at Wilson’s obvious nervousness, waving a vaguely imperious hand in a gesture for him to continue – and secretly congratulating himself on so successfully concealing his _own_ apprehensions.

 

With a deep, shaky breath, Wilson began. “Okay. Rule number one…”

 

“Of course this thing is all about the rules. God forbid you give up any of your control,” House muttered with a mocking roll of his eyes.

 

Wilson looked up at him, dark eyes solemn and certain as he held his gaze. “These rules are for _me_ ,” he clarified quietly. “We’ll get to your rules in a minute.”

 

A bit taken aback by the realization that Wilson had willingly placed limitations on his own authority, House was silent, waiting curiously for Wilson to go on.

 

“Rule number one,” Wilson repeated, returning his eyes to the paper in his hands. “I am under no circumstances ever to cause you any permanent physical harm. I’m not allowed to ever strike out at you in anger, or force any violence on you that you don’t choose to accept. If physical punishment is necessary, it’s to be meted out calmly, reasonably, and with restraint.”

 

“So, you wanna _tie me down_ and spank me, then…”

 

“ _House_ …” Wilson’s tone was clearly meant to be stern, but rather came out shaky and pleading.

 

“Go on,” House sighed.

 

“Rule number two: Any decisions I make for you, any orders I give you, any discipline I mete out – it’s always to be in your best interest. The motive must always be to help you, not ever to cause you harm, not because it’s the most convenient thing for me, or just because I happen to be angry at the moment.”

 

Wilson glanced at House for a moment to confirm his acceptance of the fairly obvious, simple rule, before biting his lip nervously with a convulsive swallow. When he went on, his voice was weaker and noticeably trembling, and House listened closely with some apprehension, wondering what about the next rule had Wilson so unsettled.

 

“Rule number three is about… our… our sexual relationship,” Wilson explained, and House immediately understood, compounding Wilson’s embarrassment with a mocking leer, which Wilson did his best to ignore. “Despite the fact that you’re the submissive party in this relationship, I can never require you to do anything… anything sexual… with which you’re uncomfortable.”

 

House raised a single brow in an accusing look, though there was mocking amusement in his eyes. “So… you’re not allowed to rape me,” he concluded. “Do we really need a _rule_ for that? That should go without saying, shouldn’t it? You’ve got a dirty mind, Wilson. You’re really getting off on this whole power kick thing, aren’t you?”

 

Defensive and embarrassed, Wilson immediately objected. “N-no, it’s not _about_ that! I just… didn’t want there to be any questions. You’re supposed to submit yourself, so… so I didn’t want you to have to wonder about… how… far…” Wilson gave up, resting his head in his hands for a moment with a weary sigh. “… and… you’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”

 

“Of course,” House replied without hesitation, a self-satisfied smile on his lips.

 

Looking up again, Wilson gave House a severe, warning look as he continued. “ _Physical punishment_ …” He left a pointed pause after the words, before going on finally, “… will be reserved only for the worst offenses. Deception… physical violence against me or others… extreme, blatant disrespect… or, worst of all…” He met House’s eyes again, and there was a solemn concern in his dark gaze that drove the teasing smirk from House’s face and made him actually pay attention.

 

“… hurting yourself, or placing yourself in physical danger.” Wilson paused a moment, still holding House’s gaze as he added, “And… if physical discipline is in order… _you_ will be the one to choose what… what implement is used.”

 

House swallowed hard, feeling a strange lump forming in his throat at the realization not only that Wilson was willing to give him that much control, but also that, to Wilson, the worst possible crime he could commit would be to cause _himself_ harm.

 

“Okay,” Wilson continued softly, his quiet words echoing in the sudden stillness that seemed to have filled the room. “Now… on to _your_ rules. Number one: assuming that I’m abiding by all of _my_ rules… you must _always_ submit to my orders…”

 

House let out a rude, scoffing sound – and Wilson immediately rose to his feet, heading toward the trash can and beginning to crumple the paper in his hand.

 

“Oh, for God’s sake, Wilson,” House objected in exasperation, “get back here! I’ve got to submit to you. That kind of goes without saying. It’s the _point_ of the whole thing, isn’t it?”

 

Wilson slowly, warily sat back down, giving House a reproachful look. “This is _serious_ , House,” he reminded him. “If you’re not going to take it seriously…”

 

“I am,” House relented with a sigh of defeat. “All right? I am.”

 

“In all your jackassery,” Wilson muttered, “I think you just missed something very important. You have an out on rule number one.” He met House’s eyes briefly as he repeated, “If I’m failing to hold up my end of the bargain, then you don’t have to obey my commands. Did you get that?”

 

Actually, House _had_ missed it, in the midst of his defensive attempts at humorous deflection. He nodded slowly, taking it in with some surprise as Wilson continued.

 

“Rule number two: you must always be honest with me. You can’t be lying to me, or trying to sneak things by me. If you do, it completely defeats the purpose. Rule number three: no physical violence, against me or anyone else. That particular one would be considered a very serious infraction.”

 

“Oh, so it’s perfectly okay for you to get violent with me – excuse me, ‘ _with my consent’_ ,” House interrupted sarcastically, “but I can’t do the same to you?”

 

Wilson’s expression was calm and solemn as he answered simply.

 

“No. You can’t.”

House was quiet for a moment, caught off guard by the simplicity of the answer. Finally he replied in a quiet, grudgingly subdued tone of voice.

 

“All right then. Just wanted to be clear on that.”

 

Wilson tried to suppress a slight smile – and then suddenly found the effort much easier when he read the last rule. His voice was solemn, gentle, as he went on. “Rule number four – you have to try your best to trust me. And… that will get easier with time, I promise. But… none of this is worth anything if you can’t trust me. You have to try to _believe_ that I’m going to make the right choices for you. All right?”

 

The pleading in Wilson’s eyes caused House to grant him a slight nod, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to actually promise what Wilson was asking.

 

He honestly wasn’t sure it was even possible – but he would _try_.

 

Wilson mirrored his nod as he returned his eyes to the paper in front of him. “There’s… a clause at the bottom. It says, basically, that if either of us breaks the rules, the other has the right to null the contract and end the arrangement without consequence. That means…” He looked at House, his expression softening at the hesitant question he read in House’s eyes. “… that means… I’m not going to turn my back on you if you void the arrangement because I’ve broken the rules.”

 

House nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing with relief at that news.

 

“Any changes or amendments to this contract would have to be agreed upon by both of us,” Wilson concluded, holding out the paper for House’s perusal. “Go ahead. Look it over. Tell me what you want changed.”

 

House studied the piece of paper in his hands for a few minutes, not looking at Wilson as he spoke in a quiet, questioning voice, “Any time either one of us wants to end this… we can.”

 

Wilson nodded. “Yeah. Of course… if there’s no official cause to end it, like my breaking the rules, or something like that…” He hesitated a moment before finishing. “… then, it could… change things, between us. I’ve already told you…”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” House cut him off softly, eyes still fastened onto the contract to disguise his emotional response to what Wilson had said. “I remember.”

 

As House finished reading, Wilson braced himself for House to verbally tear the contract to shreds – but, to his amazement, House simply shook his head, setting the paper back down on the coffee table between them.

 

“It’s fine,” he said softly. “Looks good.”

 

Barely daring to believe that House was actually agreeing so easily, Wilson tried to suppress his eager grin, as he picked up the pen from beside the paper and hurriedly signed his own name to the bottom with a trembling hand. When he was finished, he held out the pen to House, breathless with anticipation – still partially certain that House was going to change his mind at the last moment and refuse to sign.

 

To his immense relief and amazement, House simply took the pen from his hand, and signed his name in his familiar, illegible scrawl at the bottom of the page.

 

“There. It’s done,” he said softly as he set the pen down again and looked up at Wilson through piercing, deep blue eyes. “Don’t make me regret this."


	8. Sentence

Dark, comfortable nothingness gradually faded into pleasant sensation, as House drifted slowly from sleep to wakefulness. A part of him still unwilling to awaken to another uncertain day, House allowed himself to drift in that in-between place for a little while, vaguely aware of soft, slow warmth sliding over the bare skin of his chest, his side, his stomach.

 

Wilson’s hands.

 

He smiled a lazy, satisfied smile, not yet choosing to open his eyes and face the questions and responsibilities that would come with the day. A warm, moist pressure lifting and falling repeatedly along the line of his throat, made him arch his neck backward, giving better access for Wilson’s slow, languorous kisses.

 

When Wilson bit down on the sensitive skin between his throat and his shoulder, House could no longer suppress the low moan of pleasure that rose in his throat. He could feel his cock stirring to wakefulness as well, under the power of Wilson’s tender, amorous affections. Reluctantly he opened his eyes, blinking sleepily until his vision cleared, and Wilson’s smiling face came into view.

 

“Morning, gorgeous.”

 

Wilson murmured words he wouldn’t have dared utter before, leaning down to kiss House gently on the lips. One strong hand threaded through House’s hair and held his head in place as Wilson slowly deepened the kiss, swallowing the cutting comment he knew was on the tip of House’s tongue in response to his sentimental words, only drawing back when House was breathless and gasping.

 

His desires stirred by Wilson’s tender attentions, House reached his arms forward to embrace Wilson and pull him closer, only to find his progress hindered, his arms jerked back again at the wrists. Frustrated and confused in his half-awake state, House looked to the side… and found his wrists bound in the leather cuffs, now attached to his headboard. As Wilson leaned in to kiss him again, House let out a muffled sound of frustration against his lips, trying to pull away.

 

Drawing back slightly to meet House’s eyes with affection and reassurance, Wilson settled close at House’s side as he murmured, “Shhh… trust me…”

 

Any apprehension House might have felt was swiftly overwhelmed with pleasure and arousal, as Wilson slid a hand downward to trail his fingertips lightly along the underside of House’s erection in a teasing, tickling touch. House let out a quiet groan of frustrated desire, his hips arching upward in an attempt to intensify the contact.

 

“God… _Wilson_ …”

 

In response, Wilson suddenly grasped the base of House’s aching cock in a firm fist, pressing House’s pelvis down against the mattress again. His hand in House’s hair went from a gentle caress to a tight grip, pulling his head back as he rose up slightly to issue a low warning in House’s ear.

 

“Don’t move… and don’t speak.”

 

Wilson pressed his thumb firmly against the sensitive patch of skin at the base of House’s cock, rubbing in a slow, insistent circle that made House bite back a strangled cry at the intensity of the sensation – but he restrained himself with an effort, and didn’t say a word. Wilson smiled in pleased approval, his hand gentling in House’s hair, then sliding down to rest on House’s chest, thrilling to the strong, rapid beat under his hand.

 

“I knew it,” Wilson whispered, his hot breath against House’s ear sending a delicious shudder of anticipation through House’s restrained, already desperate body. “You love this. The surrender. Giving up control to someone else – to _me_.”

 

Wilson punctuated his words with a sharp nip at House’s earlobe, and House’s body jerked at the added stimulation, his wrists straining against his bonds. Wilson let out a low, dark chuckle, and House felt the smile against his skin as Wilson’s hand began to work more insistently at House’s restrained, throbbing erection.

 

Wilson pressed his hand against House’s chest, pinning him down, his forefinger idly flicking at House’s nipple as he did, and House bit back another cry of mingled pleasure and pain – obediently remaining silent, despite the delicious torture to which Wilson was subjecting him.

 

“No one would ever guess,” Wilson mused, his hands continuing their expert attentions to House’s desperate, over-sensitized body, “how much the idea of being helpless… of being at my mercy… turns you on... excites you. You _like_ that I could hurt you… if I wanted to…”

 

House’s entire body was trembling with the effort to restrain his instinctive reaction to Wilson’s touch, his teeth biting down hard on his lower lip in an attempt to maintain the silence Wilson had ordered. Wilson’s hand stilled on House’s erection, and he grabbed a handful of his hair again, drawing his head back slightly as he leaned in closer to whisper a soft command.

 

“You love this… don’t you? Admit it.”

 

House hesitated, eyes closed against the vulnerability that came with such an admission – and Wilson remained torturously still. He repeated the command in an unyielding tone of warning.

 

“ _Admit it_.”

 

The strain of the struggle between his pride, and his desire for Wilson to finish what he’d started, was obvious in House’s pale, taut face. Finally, his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he let out his breath in a shaky gasp, whispering a response of desperation and defeat, barely over a breath.

 

“Yes. Damn you, Wilson, _yes_ …”

 

Wilson let out a quiet laugh of soft triumph as he renewed his efforts, and brought House over the edge into oblivion with a single, twisting pull of his hand. Trembling, sweat-soaked, House’s body collapsed against the bed, limp and still and as thoroughly sated as he had been desperate only moments earlier.

 

Wilson rose slowly from the bed, leaving House to catch his breath as he walked to the bathroom. House was too dazed to protest the bonds that still held him to the bed, as Wilson took his time cleaning up, humming contentedly to himself as he got dressed for the day. By the time he returned to House’s side, a hot, wet cloth in his hands, House had recovered most of his senses.

 

“You’re disturbingly good at this sort of thing,” he raised his head to breathlessly observe, a suspicious brow quirked upward as he met Wilson’s eyes.

 

Wilson responded with a self-deprecating shrug, belied by the satisfied smile that graced his lips, as he gently wiped House’s spendings from his bare stomach and thighs.

 

Returning his smirk, House added, “Whorishly good, actually. You get a lot of practice at your night job?”

 

His smile not fading, Wilson gripped House’s hair and jerked his head back in a dominating gesture, leaning in close and holding his gaze as he softly advised, “You might want to watch that smart mouth of yours, House.” He softened the warning with a slow, tender kiss, drawing back to remind House with a teasing glimmer in his eyes, “You’ve still got a punishment coming. I don’t think you want to add to it.”

 

“Oh, yeah.” House rolled his eyes. “That nonexistent punishment you can’t come up with. Yeah, I’m _so_ scared of _that_.”

 

“Oh, about that,” Wilson replied in a deceptively mild voice, glancing up to gauge House’s reaction as he completed his task and rose off the bed again. “I _have_ come up with it.” He leaned down to capture House’s mouth in a brief, playful kiss before drawing back to meet his startled, alarmed gaze. “And you’re about to get it.”

 

With those words, Wilson turned and took the cloth back to the bathroom, before returning to the dresser, where he opened one of his drawers and began digging around inside it, searching for some unknown object.

 

The question of what it might be that Wilson was looking for set House’s nerves on edge again, as he pulled uselessly, instinctively, against the cuffs at his wrists. He swallowed hard, with an effort steadying his voice.

 

“You said I got to choose…”

 

“If the punishment involved hurting you,” Wilson reminded him as he found what he was looking for and closed the drawer again. “And it doesn’t.” He turned to face House as he added with a teasing wink, “Much.”

 

House barely heard Wilson’s words. His attention was focused completely on the object in his hands – a contraption of leather and metal, of a disconcerting size and shape that sent a rush of mingled apprehension and curious excitement through him. House’s mouth went dry as he met Wilson’s eyes at last, noting the dark anticipation in the younger man’s eyes.

 

“You really think this is a fitting punishment?” House objected, his voice trembling slightly. “I _lied_ to you! I deliberately went behind your back to undermine your authority and get more Vicodin than you allowed. I wrecked your office and disrespected you and... other things I can’t remember right now. I deserve _much_ worse punishment than this…”

 

“Thanks for the suggestion… and the refresher,” Wilson smirked. “But it’s not going to work, House.” He winked as he closed the remaining distance between them. “I won’t be throwing you into the briar patch today, Brer Rabbit.”

 

House struggled uselessly to free himself as Wilson sat on the edge of the bed beside him, but instantly went still when Wilson’s firm hand closed around the base of his soft cock – which immediately and treacherously twitched in response to the contact. Wilson smiled as he deftly slipped the metal and leather cage around House’s cock, then wrapped the soft leather strap around the base of House’s package and cinched it just tight enough to be barely comfortable.

 

His actions elicited a sharp gasp of alarm from House as he let his head fall back against the pillows and closed his eyes for a moment before looking up again through slightly hazy eyes to see what Wilson would do next. Wilson laughed softly as he locked both the strap and the cage in place with two tiny padlocks, then held the keys up for House to see, before tucking them into the pocket of his shirt.

 

“Just how long do you plan to leave this thing on?” House demanded, the depth and quickness of his breath betraying his alarm, despite his calm, even voice.

 

“As long as I want,” Wilson replied as he reached across House to unfasten the cuffs that still bound him to the bed.

 

As he slowly sat up, absently rubbing his wrists, House looked down at the contraption binding his genitals and swallowed hard, before setting his jaw stubbornly and giving Wilson a defiant look.

 

“What kind of a weakling do you think I am? You really think I won’t be able to take this all day?”

 

Wilson’s smile softened with indulgent affection as he stood, then leaned over House, his face inches from House’s as his dark eyes locked onto House’s demanding gaze. His fingers threaded gently through House’s hair as he trailed casually idle fingertips up the inside of House’s thigh. House drew in his breath sharply, his freed hand falling instinctively to grasp Wilson’s wrist and still his exploring hand.

 

Wilson let out a low chuckle. “You can’t even take it right now,” he murmured in House’s ear before softly kissing his throat. “Let alone all day.” He paused, meeting House’s eyes again with a wicked gleam in his own as he added in a dark whisper, “And who said I’ll be taking it off _today_?”


	9. Punishment

“I know this isn’t going to be easy for you,” Wilson said in a calm, patient voice as he parked his car in the parking lot outside PPTH. “But trust me, if you try to take it off, or find another way to get around it, to get… relief – things could be a lot _less_ easy. Clear?”

 

House let out a quiet scoffing sound, rolling his eyes as he reached for the door handle. “Please,” he sneered. “Relief from what? This is nothing, Wilson. You’ve really over-estimated yourself and your abilities this time, because this is going to be a walk in the park.” Reconsidering his choice of words as he glanced down at his cane, House amended, “A walk in the park for _you_.”

 

“Really?”

 

Wilson quirked an eyebrow upward as he turned in his seat to face House, a sly smile on his face. The dangerously soft tone of his voice was a clear warning, but there was little he could do to prevent it as Wilson rested a firm hand on House’s thigh, trailing it slowly upward toward the cage concealed by House’s jeans.

 

House tensed, reaching out a hand to grasp Wilson’s wrist and still his hand, swallowing hard as he struggled to control his physical reaction to the simple touch – just one more in a series of such seemingly innocent touches. Yet, just knowing that the device was _there_ , concealed beneath his clothes, secretly restricting his reactions and declaring Wilson’s mastery, seemed to make every touch more effective.

 

Wilson seemed to be taking particular pleasure in doling out such touches this morning.

 

Wilson leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper of command and warning.

 

“Take your hand off mine.”

 

“Wilson…” House’s voice was uncharacteristically hesitant, barely disguising a slight tremor, as he nevertheless withdrew his hand, with an effort forcing it down against the seat.

 

“I thought it was no big deal,” Wilson softly taunted him. “Nothing you can’t handle… right?”

 

House swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to find the words to maintain his assertion – and failing.

 

Wilson raised his hand to brush gently across the front of House’s jeans in a light, teasing caress – then let out a low, dark chuckle when House bit back a groan of pained arousal at the provocative contact.

 

“Yeah.” Wilson smirked as he removed his hand, straightening in his seat again and reaching for the door handle. “I can see that this is going to be a breeze for you, House. What was I thinking? Guess I’ve got a lot to learn about this punishment stuff, haven’t I?”

 

Without waiting for a response, he opened his door and got out, walking swiftly toward the entrance. He was whistling idly as he went, clearly in a particularly pleasant mood, as he left House to make his own way into the hospital – after taking a few moments to recover his composure.

 

 _Easy,_ he told himself firmly as he headed toward his office. _This is going to be easy. All I have to do is stay too busy to think about it for the rest of the day._

 

*********************************

 

Of course, that was an idea that worked much better in theory than in practice.

 

It also might have worked much better had Cuddy, upon his entrance, handed him a case that would have taken him more than a couple of hours to solve. A few minutes into the differential, House was fairly certain he knew what was wrong with the patient; but as the diagnosis was not immediately life threatening, he allowed the discussion to continue a while longer.

 

It provided him with at least some minimal amusement to listen to the theories his team came up with – all creative and rare and intriguing… but all wrong. He paced the room idly, trying to appear as if he was simply lost in thought. In reality, House thought that the mere activity of walking might be better than just idly sitting at the table, trying not to focus on the slow burn of persistent sensation Wilson had awakened in his body.

 

 _Anything for a distraction – even a weak one like their inane…_

 

“House… are you okay?”

 

Cameron’s hesitant, concerned question drew House out of his thoughts – but it was perhaps the only distraction he _wouldn’t_ have welcomed at the moment.

 

“Fine. Our patient, on the other hand, might be dying…”

 

“Are you in pain?” Cameron persisted, frowning as House stilled his pacing beside his chair, and sat down in it again. “Is it your leg?”

 

“No, it’s my ass,” House snapped sarcastically. “The cane’s just a cover to throw you off the trail. Too bad your keen deductive skills figured it out…”

 

“Can we please get back to the patient?” Foreman sighed, clearly impatient. “His leg always hurts. It’s not news. If our patient dies while we’re sitting here screwing around – that _might_ be.”

 

“Well, we know very well that if it’s worse than usual for some reason, that could end up affecting our patient…”

 

As Cameron tried to make an argument for her interest, House immediately lost focus on the conversation when the conference room door opened, and Wilson walked in. House’s team looked up at him curiously as he stopped in front of House, reaching down to idly shuffle through the files and test results laid out on the table. His tone was deceptively mild, casual, when at last he spoke.

 

“You said you needed a consult?”

 

“You think she has cancer?” Foreman asked, casting an incredulous look in House’s direction. “But there’s nothing to indicate…”

 

“There rarely is – until it’s too late,” House cut him off, not taking his eyes off Wilson. “And strangely enough, I prefer to get to the diagnosis part of the process _before_ things get that far.”

 

Even as he spoke the words to back up Wilson’s false excuse for being there, House could barely suppress the admiring grin that rose to his lips at his lover’s nerve. Wilson shifted almost imperceptibly closer to House, his leg sliding slightly – and apparently accidentally – between House’s parted knees as he gathered up the tests and the patient file from the table.

 

However, the effect of that slight contact on House’s restrained arousal was tremendous; with an effort, House suppressed the groan that rose in his throat, momentarily closing his eyes before forcing himself to focus on Wilson again.

 

“I’ll take a look at these and get them back to you within the hour,” Wilson promised, turning and heading toward the door.

 

“Are you… sure you’re all right?” Chase asked hesitantly, a single dubious brow raised as he took in House’s strange reactions. “You _do_ seem to be a bit more… uncomfortable, than usual.”

 

House noticed out of the corner of his eye that Wilson paused in the doorway, waiting to hear what his response would be – and suddenly, a wicked gleam formed in his eyes as he let out a weary, put-upon sigh.

 

“Fine. Okay. You caught me,” he confessed in a conspiratorial tone. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but you dragged it out of me. If I can’t walk straight today, it’s only because Wilson got a little rough with me last night.”

 

Wilson turned in the doorway, eyes widened slightly in surprise, and a hint of alarm.

 

As House had expected, his team responded with rolled eyes and groans of disgust and embarrassment, assuming, naturally, that he was making a joke at the expense of his easily embarrassed best friend.

 

In a tone of chagrin and reproof which in no way betrayed his legitimate concerns, Wilson sighed, “House…”

 

“What?” House blinked, all innocence as he met Wilson’s eyes. “Oh, that’s right.” His voice lowered to a confiding tone as he addressed his team. “He’s a little touchy about anyone finding out about how he likes to tie me down and make me his bitch…”

 

Giving up, Wilson waved a dismissive hand and turned to leave. “I’ll get these back to you right away.”

 

The conversation turned back to the patient, effectively diverted by House’s inappropriate comments, and House silently congratulated himself, marking down a point on his side of the scoreboard in his mind.

 

 _Take that, Wilson. You wanna play rough? I’ll beat you at your own game._

 

However, ten minutes later, smug satisfaction faded into uncertainty, and House’s stomach lurched when his cell phone began to vibrate, and he flipped it open to read a simple text message from Wilson’s phone.

 

 _My office. Now._

 

“Gotta go,” House muttered as he rose to his feet and headed toward the door.

 

“Go where?” Cameron demanded, incredulous. “What about the patient?”

 

“Oh, her. She’s been huffing the chemicals under her kitchen sink,” House stated flatly.

 

“She’s forty-three!” Chase pointed out unnecessarily.

 

“With a fourteen-year-old son who’s also beginning to exhibit the same symptoms,” House concluded. “Mom apparently got curious. Inform her that while she was an idiot to begin with, now she’s an even _bigger_ idiot because of her illegal use of _not_ -drugs. Her physical symptoms should clear up when she stops using. In the mean time, get her checked into a decent rehab.”

 

Without waiting for their reactions, House stepped out into the hall and made his way to Wilson’s office.

 

He didn’t bother knocking on the door before entering and closing it quietly behind him. Wilson did not look up as House started hesitantly toward the desk where he sat; but before House could take a step, Wilson spoke in a quietly authoritative voice.

 

“Lock it.”

 

House froze, swallowing hard as he stared for a long moment at Wilson, who just kept writing on the paper in front of him. Slowly, House turned and obeyed the command, before facing Wilson again and moving hesitantly toward the desk again.

 

“What? Can’t take a joke?” he teased, though he couldn’t keep a slight nervous tremor from his voice. “They didn’t suspect a thing.”

 

“Sit down.” Wilson looked up to meet House’s eyes before issuing another quiet, calm command. “And shut up.”

 

House hesitated a moment, briefly considering just turning around and walking out, but in the end – he sat. Wilson continued writing a moment longer, unhurried, before laying down his pen and rising to his feet. He did not speak or look at House as he walked around the desk to stand behind House’s chair.

 

A soft hand slid along House’s shoulder to close gently but firmly around his throat, drawing his head back slightly. House did not resist, his head tilting backward in response to Wilson’s guiding hand, his eyes falling closed as he drew in a sharp, shaky breath.

 

“I’m not hurting you,” Wilson observed. He considered a moment before laughing softly. He tightened his grip slightly as he added, “So that must mean… you’re feeling… something else entirely.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper as he crouched behind House, his breath warm and enticing in House’s ear as his free hand slid possessively around House’s waist. “I always knew you’d love this sort of thing, House. I just had no idea how much.”

 

House bit back a moan of anguished arousal as his body responded to Wilson’s seductive words and touches. “Wilson…” he whispered, his breath ragged and uneven. “Wilson…”

He bit his lip, just before he would have uttered a breathless _please_.

 

 _Not gonna beg, Wilson… no matter_ how _good you think you are._

 

Wilson, apparently, had other ideas.

 

“Shhh. ‘Secret’ means _secret_ , House,” Wilson reminded him softly. “Not ‘secret until you decide to have some fun with it’. This… _arrangement_ of ours has to be just between the two of us. I thought you understood that…”

 

Wilson released House’s throat and moved smoothly around in front of him, bracing one hand on House’s shoulder as he leaned down to lightly palm the front of House’s jeans with his other hand. House’s hands jerked slightly upward in response, but Wilson swiftly stopped him with soft, commanding words.

 

“ _Don’t_. Hold onto the bottom of your chair with both hands, and don’t let go until I tell you to.”

 

The very idea of the restraint Wilson was enforcing only served to heighten House’s desire, and he obeyed, eyes focused on Wilson’s every move as he waited to see what he would do next. Wilson smiled down at House as he pressed his hand harder against House’s groin, moving in a slow, torturous circle, creating an agonizingly pleasurable friction against the cage beneath his clothes.

 

“Don’t,” House whispered with a sharp gasp. “Wilson… _God_ … I can’t… can’t wait…”

 

Wilson’s smile became a smirk as he countered, “You haven’t got a choice. You’ll wait until I decide you’re done waiting.” His voice lowered and he leaned closer as he added with a wicked sparkle of mirth in his eyes, “And that’s going to be just a little bit longer now than it was going to be.”

 

“No,” House groaned quietly. “Wilson…”

 

“That’s enough, House.” Wilson’s tone took on a sharp note as he cut off House’s plea. “I’m not going to change my mind. Any more argument will just make you have to wait longer.”

 

House bit back the protest on the tip of his tongue, aware at this point that voicing it would only make his situation more difficult.

 

“Good,” Wilson remarked with an approving nod. “That’s good. You just keep your mouth shut about all this for the rest of the day. Just do your job… hang out in your office, whatever. But don’t mention this again – and don’t try to touch yourself in any way – because if you do…” He lowered his voice again, concluding in a tone of dark warning that left no doubt as to his sincerity, “… I’ll make you wait a _week_.”

 

***************************

 

The rest of the day passed with interminable slowness, with House’s patient already cured. Wilson took every opportunity to cross House’s path during that time – and _created_ opportunities where they didn’t already exist. House was rarely alone during that time. If he was in his office or the conference room, one of his staff always seemed to be nearby. Other times, Wilson found him in the cafeteria, or the halls, where someone else was inevitably close enough to see should he attempt anything… provocative.

 

That fact only seemed to make Wilson enjoy his little game all the more.

 

He made a point of accidentally-on-purpose brushing against House as he passed him in the hall… running a casual hand along the back of House’s shoulders as he walked behind his desk… deliberately rubbing his leg against House’s under the table as they ate lunch together.

 

The contact alone was enough to drive House to distraction, and the very secrecy of the whole thing added a whole new element of torment. House tried his best not to let Wilson see his reaction to the torturous little game he was playing – but he was fairly certain that Wilson was well aware of the effect his attempts were having.

 

A couple of hours before the end of the day, House pocketed a pair of scissors and headed down the hall, glancing surreptitiously around to be sure Wilson was nowhere in sight. Satisfied that his escape was unobserved, he slipped into the restroom and headed toward the large, handicapped stall, turning swiftly to lock himself in, already pulling the scissors from his pocket with his other hand.

 

He no longer cared what Wilson did to him. Relief was within his grasp, mere seconds away.

 

Before he could lock it, however, the door was shoved open again, and Wilson pushed his way inside, closing the door and locking it quickly before grabbing House by the collar and pushing him forcefully against the wall of the stall with a loud, metallic thud. With a calm, knowing smile, he grasped House’s wrist, drawing the hand that held the scissors up between them and raising an eyebrow as he met House’s gaze in a silent demand for explanation.

 

Knowing he was caught, House just closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall behind him and swallowing hard, his breath quick and shallow in response to Wilson’s nearness, and the violent, possessive nature of his actions.

 

“Stupid, House,” Wilson murmured, shaking his head in reproving amusement, his hand sliding down between them to deftly work the fastenings of House’s jeans. “Very stupid.”

 

Caught in some vague, indescribable place between desire and alarm, House reached down to lock a hand around Wilson’s wrist, stilling his hand. He was still very much aware of the presence of the scissors in his own hand, and uncertain as to Wilson’s intentions at the moment. House’s voice was hoarse and thick with confusion and arousal, his body shaking with anticipation and apprehension.

 

“Wait… what… what are you…?”

 

In one swift motion, Wilson twisted his wrist out of House’s grasp, catching both of House’s wrists in his and slamming them back against the wall on either side of his head. As House’s cane dropped to the tile with an echoing clatter, Wilson shifted in closer, edging his thigh between House’s legs and pressing slightly, eliciting a helpless groan from his captive lover.

 

His voice was a low, warning whisper, his lips brushing against House’s ear.

 

“ _Don’t_ fight me.”

 

Breathless, House shook his head, indicating his submission, tensing as Wilson snatched the scissors from his hand and hurled them angrily against the far wall. He closed his eyes with a gasp as both of Wilson’s hands roughly jerked him forward by the waist of his jeans, hurriedly unfastening his jeans and yanking them down around his knees.

 

“I thought this thing wasn’t going to be any trouble,” Wilson taunted him softly, dark eyes widening with wonder and desire as he took his time, enjoying the sight of House’s bound body before him. “Thought you could take it, House.”

 

House bit back a choked whimper, his entire body tensing in an attempt to control his reaction as Wilson trailed an idle fingertip along the underside of House’s restrained cock. The younger man let out a low, smug laugh as House’s hands clenched into fists against the wall and he uttered a quiet, frustrated curse under his breath.

 

“Wilson… _please_ …”

 

Wilson did not acknowledge his desperate words, as he placed his thumb and forefinger on the exposed skin on either side of the metal cage, rubbing slow, firmly, back and forth as he studied the expression on House’s face. His smile widened with satisfaction as House bit down on his lower lip, forcing back a moan of frustration and need.

 

“ _Wilson_ …”

 

Wilson raised his free hand and took hold of House’s hair, drawing his head back with surprising gentleness, to place a slow, leisurely kiss along the column of his throat. He closed his teeth over House’s skin in a softly possessive gesture, before drawing back and murmuring a quiet warning.

 

“Try to take this off again… and the next one will be solid steel.” He paused, pulling back enough to meet House’s eyes. “Trust me… you won’t enjoy it nearly as much.”

 

Both their attention was drawn toward the door with wide-eyed alarm when they heard the restroom door open and a set of footsteps enter. Wilson silently shifted his hand to rest his fingertips over House’s lips in a silent warning… and then, a malicious smile crossed his face, and he clamped his hand tightly over House’s mouth, shifting cautiously closer to House and pressing his body back against the wall.

 

House barely had time to wonder why he thought it was necessary, when an overwhelming burst of sensation assailed him, as Wilson fingers tightened on his cock, rubbing slow, insistent circles along the sides. A convulsive swallow was visible in House’s throat, as he struggled to suppress the cry that rose there. Wilson just smiled as he continued his teasing touches, listening all the while for the sounds that would indicate their audience had left.

 

Just as the footsteps started again, House’s eyes widened, and he glanced pointedly down at his cane at his feet. Wilson followed his gaze, biting his lip with the first trace of anxious uncertainty in his dark eyes as he met House’s eyes again. Both men froze, breathless, waiting, as the slow footsteps faded toward the doorway, then ended with the creaking sound of the door opening and closing again.

 

House slumped against the wall, gasping with the relief of no longer having to maintain his silence. Wilson fell forward against him, a silent laugh vibrating in his throat as a trail of lazy, affectionate kisses led him from House’s neck up to his mouth.

 

He finally pulled back, giving House a wicked wink as he pulled his jeans up again, zipping and buttoning them closed. House’s jaw dropped in confused surprise as he stared down at Wilson’s hands, then questioningly up into his eyes.

 

“You’re… you’re not… gonna…?”

 

Wilson smirked, shaking his head. “Not yet.”

 

Despite the vulnerability he knew it revealed, House couldn’t hold back his trembling protest.

 

“But… but it’s been…”

 

“House.” Wilson’s tone was warning, though his smile was warm and affectionate. “The more you whine about it… the longer you’ll wait.”

 

Without another word, Wilson unlocked the stall and stepped out, dutifully washing his hands before exiting the bathroom and heading back toward his office. House watched him through incredulous eyes, barely believing that Wilson was simply going to leave him there, more frantic than ever, forced to wait even longer for the relief he so desperately craved.

 

Relief that was still within his grasp, should he choose to claim it.

 

House turned his head, his eyes falling once more upon the pair of scissors on the floor across the room. He swallowed hard, considering his options for a long moment, wondering if Wilson had forgotten them.

 _No… no, he knows they’re there… He didn’t forget so quickly… He just… wants to know what I’ll do… And he_ will _know, either way… later on, tonight…_

 

House slowly made his way to the scissors, picking them up and staring at them for a few moments, debating. Finally, he placed them back into his pocket and made his way out of the bathroom stall and back toward his office, to wait out the long, remaining hours until he and Wilson could go home.


	10. Lesson

Five minutes before five that evening, House sat at his desk, staring down at the glowing gray face of his cell phone. He watched as the minutes ticked interminably by, his breath quickening as the numbers flashed to read _4:59_.

 

House pressed a hand firmly against the bulge in the front of his jeans in a useless attempt to ease the tormenting pressure there, closing his eyes and dropping his head onto his desk in premature relief as the numbers changed to _5:00_.

 

House raised hazy eyes to stare at the frustratingly empty doorway to his office, waiting for Wilson to appear and announce that it was time to go. He thought about going to Wilson’s office and hurrying him along a bit; but the risk of bringing further punishment upon himself by irritating Wilson prevented him. He waited, trembling, more anxious by the moment – but still, Wilson did not come.

 

House tried to distract himself by composing a mathematical formula in his head to explain how the rate of increase of his desperation and frustration somehow became greater with every minute after five o’clock – then gave up when he realized that he lacked the coherency and focus necessary for such an endeavor.

 

He let out a plaintive sound that was halfway between a groan and whimper as he dropped his head to the desk again with an audible thump – dully painful, but a welcome distraction from the worse torment he had been enduring all day.

 

Soft, warm fingers trailing along the back of his neck made House’s shoulders tense – then slump downward in relief. He had been so lost in his own thoughts, his own useless mental fight against his own frustration, that he hadn’t even noticed when Wilson had finally entered the room.

 

“Ready to go?” Wilson’s voice was low, lilting, tinged with affection, sympathy, and mild amusement.

 

“ _God_ , yes.”

 

House groaned, raising his head and pushing his chair back to rise. Noting how pronounced his limp was by now, Wilson graciously took House’s backpack from the desk, shouldering it for him as he headed toward the door. House followed him, and quickly surpassed him in his hurry to get to the car, and home, and the sweet relief that would follow – _had_ to follow.

 

House couldn’t let himself believe that Wilson might possibly make him wait any longer than that.

 

Much to House’s frustration, Wilson seemed to be taking his time, in no particular hurry at all. When he finally unlocked his car and got in, House had already been restlessly drumming his fingers on the top of the car for a full minute.

 

He knew. He had been watching the second hand on his watch the whole time.

 

“Are you _trying_ to become the only person in the history of the universe to ever get a ticket for breaking the _minimum_ speed limit?”

 

House knew better than to deliberately rile Wilson, but after five minutes of his friend’s excessively cautious – and, he suspected, quite purposeful – driving, he could no longer help speaking up about it. Fortunately, Wilson seemed more amused than irritated, shaking his head slightly as he replied in a calm, patient voice.

 

“Only major highways have minimum speed limits.”

 

“It was an exaggeration for the sake of pointing out how worthy of mockery you are,” House muttered, glaring out the side window as he slumped in his seat, arms crossed sullenly over his chest. “Technicalities aren’t important.”

 

Finally, Wilson parked the car outside House’s apartment.

 

However, House forcibly restrained the sense of relief welling up within him, reminding himself that it might very well be short-lived. Just because they were home did not mean Wilson was going to instantly release him from the torment of bondage he had endured all day. In fact, if he knew his friend, House was fairly certain Wilson would continue to drag out the torturous anticipation for as long as possible.

 

 _Unless I can do something to make sure he doesn’t…_

 

House’s hands were trembling, almost too badly to open the door, but somehow he managed. Wilson followed him inside, but was barely through the door before House was upon him, grasping his arms and pushing him back against the wall beside it. House extended one blindly fumbling arm to shove the door closed before focusing his attention fully on Wilson, his lips covering the younger man’s mouth and silently commanding his attention.

 

Wilson yielded to House’s kiss, unresisting as House trailed rough, urgent hands down over his torso. When trembling hands reached to swiftly and unceremoniously unbutton his shirt, Wilson finally brought himself to offer a weak protest, laughing softly as he raised his own hands to cover House’s.

 

“A bit impatient, are we?” He smirked, a single brow raised in patronizing mockery.

 

“Screw you.”

 

House muttered his resentful words against Wilson’s lips, before diving into another deep, breathtaking kiss. His hands pushed past Wilson’s half-hearted attempt to stop him, pushing Wilson’s shirt back over his shoulders before setting to work on his pants.

 

“House… House, wait a minute… what are you… ? H- _House_ …”

 

Wilson’s whispered protest was swallowed up in a breathless groan as House roughly, possessively stroked him through the thin fabric of his underwear. He tried to pull away, but House simply used his attempt to maneuver him backward toward the sofa, pushing forward until the backs of Wilson’s knees hit the sofa, and he collapsed backward onto it, House swiftly following.

 

“What… what are you… trying to prove?” Wilson gasped out in a breathless whisper, his hands resting on House’s in a parody of control.

 

He was no longer making any real effort to stop him.

 

“Nothing,” House responded, his voice a low growl as he trailed sloppy, hurried kisses down Wilson’s throat. “Nothing… just… want you…”

 

Wilson bit back a groan in response to House’s efforts, unable to conceal his arousal at the older man’s rough, impatient attentions. It was unbelievably exciting, enticing, to think how desperately House wanted him by this point, how open was his need and desire as he sought to bring Wilson closer to the same state of arousal in which he had come to be… had been all day…

 

 _Wait…_

 

“No…”

 

Wilson ground out the word, his voice thick and hoarse with his own rapidly rising need. With an effort, he closed his hands around House’s wrists, stilling his hands and pushing them slowly back away from him, meeting House’s innocent, questioning gaze.

 

 _Yeah…_ too _innocent…_

 

“No, House,” Wilson sighed, dragging himself back up to a sitting position on the sofa, still holding House’s wrists firmly. “You just want to _play_ me.”

 

“What? No…”

 

But there was nothing even remotely believable in House’s voice or eyes, filled with false sincerity.

 

“You’re planning to get me aroused and then deny _me_ … turnabout’s fair play and all that. You think you’ll get what you want by making _me_ desperate for _you_. Or, you just think you can get me so worked up that I’ll lose control and let you out of your punishment on _your_ terms.” Wilson shook his head, his lips forming a taut, grim line. “Either way – it’s not going to work.”

 

“I wasn’t…”

 

Ignoring House’s useless attempts to argue, Wilson continued with a soft, ironic smile. “But I’m not going to let a little thing like sex distract me, and I’m a little better at impulse control than you are – especially now, when you’ve already been waiting all day.”

 

Giving up, realizing that he had been caught, House lowered his forehead to rest on Wilson’s chest with a defeated groan. His voice was teetering on the edge of a whine as he mumbled plaintively against Wilson’s skin.

 

“ _Wilson_ …”

 

“Shhh.” Wilson soothed him in a gentle voice barely over a whisper, running an idle hand affectionately through House’s hair. “I think you’ve been punished… _almost_ enough. And I’m going to give you what you need.” He paused, his voice lowering and taking on a harder edge as he rested a possessive hand at the back of House’s neck and added, “But on _my_ terms, House. You’re not in control here. Do you understand that?”

 

House hesitated, biting his lower lip as he engaged in a brief mental struggle with his pride. Finally, he nodded silently against Wilson’s chest, lying still and waiting for Wilson to give him some indication as to what was going to happen next.

 

“Good. Now get up… go in the bedroom… and get undressed. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

 

Sullen and reluctant, House rose awkwardly to his feet, picking up his cane from where he had leaned it against the end table and heading toward the bedroom without a word of protest. Wilson watched him go, calm and silent, until the bedroom door closed behind him. Once he was sure his reaction would not be observed, Wilson let out a slow, shuddering breath, leaning his head back against the sofa and closing his eyes as he fought to regain control. His hand rested over the raging erection House had managed to give him in the space of just a few moments, as he rose and made his way swiftly toward the bathroom.

 

When he entered the bedroom ten minutes later, House was lying on the bed on his back, naked save the leather and metal trap that caged his own burgeoning arousal. His arms were folded casually behind his head, and he glanced up at Wilson with a smirk and a knowingly raised brow as he entered the room.

 

“Have a little problem of your own to take care of?”

 

“Shut up,” Wilson muttered, ducking his head self-consciously as he began to shed his own clothing. “I wasn’t planning to tie you up this time, but I could change my mind. And a gag might be in order, too.”

 

The threat was light-hearted, but Wilson’s face was flushed with embarrassment as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

 

House was not inclined to let go of that embarrassment so easily.

 

“What if I _want_ you to tie me down and gag me, Wilson?” he mused in a low, dark voice of dangerous suggestion. “Would that turn you on? Does it make you hot… thinking of me all tied down and powerless and at your mercy… not even able to _beg_ for it? Utterly and completely within your power… and helplessly loving every moment?”

 

The honeyed whiskey of House’s voice, the quiet seduction in his all-too-descriptive words, began to have a visible effect on Wilson’s body, despite his efforts in the bathroom to keep his own arousal at bay. He had to keep control, at least for the next hour or so – had to make this entirely about House, and his punishment, and the eventual alleviation of it.

 

House, however, seemed determined to wrest some measure of that control out of his hands, regardless of Wilson’s plans.

 

Wilson’s jaw set with determination, and he squared his shoulders, trying to regain an air of authority despite the obvious effect House was having on him. His hand shot out abruptly to grasp the cage around House’s genitals, and House drew in a sharp gasp, his hands jerking behind his head before he lowered one tentatively toward Wilson’s.

 

“ _Do_ you want me to tie you down?” Wilson demanded, his voice low and leading, loaded with the weight of subtle warning. “Gag you? Because that _can_ be arranged.”

 

House hesitated a moment, his hand resting on Wilson’s, not quite daring to try to pull it away. His eyes were closed, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat as he drew in a deep, shaky breath, then finally shook his head to indicate his answer. He was already as helpless, as much at Wilson’s mercy, as he cared to be at the moment.

 

“Then put your hand back behind your head, and don’t move it again,” Wilson snapped, tightening his hold slightly. “And don’t speak unless I ask you a question. Is that clear?”

 

House nodded, biting his lip, his breath rapid and irregular as he raised his hand in a jerky, shaking motion and placed it behind his head again.

 

Wilson felt a pang of guilt and uncertainty mingled with affection and warmth as he watched House obey his command. He didn’t want to be hard with him, not after the day he knew House had endured; but House seemed determined to challenge him at every turn, to push the limits and attempt everything within his power to subvert the authority he had willingly surrendered.

 

It was what House always did – but he could not allow it to continue.

 

In this case, he could not allow it to _begin_.

 

Still, Wilson’s voice softened as he amended his former order. “Scratch that. If I’m hurting you… if what I’m doing is more than you can take… if you really _need_ me to stop… you can say so. You can speak.” He paused. “But if you try to play me again, House… and don’t think I won’t know if you do… I _will_ gag you. Do you understand?”

 

House nodded again, his shoulders slumping slightly with guarded relief at Wilson’s words.

 

Wilson’s hand gentled on House’s bound body, light, teasing fingertips trailing slowly over every inch of exposed and over-sensitized flesh. House bit back a groan, hands clenching into fists beside his head as he fought against his own impulse to resist. The explosion of sensation was almost more than he could bear, as Wilson stroked him harder through the cage, deliberately intensifying his torment.

 

“I really shouldn’t let you off the hook this easily, House,” Wilson mused, his tone thoughtful but light and amused. “And I really don’t have to – do I? I could just leave you like this a little while longer, couldn’t I?”

 

“No, no, I’ll freakin’ _kill_ you, Wilson…”

 

House’s voice was slurred, hoarse with need, as he shook his head, hips bucking upward slightly despite his best efforts to keep still under Wilson’s touch.

 

“I _could_ …” Wilson repeated with a warning edge. “… _couldn’t I_?”

 

“Yes,” House ground out reluctantly, a defeated grimace twisting his trembling lips. “Yes, Wilson, you could… but…”

 

“Could just let you suffer for another couple of days,” Wilson continued, still stroking in slow, rhythmic motions. “Give you time to really get it through your head who’s in control, here. Might not be a bad idea…”

 

“It’s a _very_ bad idea,” House moaned desperately. “It’s a freakin’ _terrible_ idea. _God_ , no, Wilson… please…”

 

Wilson couldn’t suppress a smirk at the pleading words, as he continued his quiet diatribe, detailing the reasons why House deserved such continued punishment.

 

“You tried to take the cage off – in spite of my explicit orders not to touch it. Tried to humiliate me, in front of your team…”

 

“I knew they wouldn’t buy it…” House protested breathlessly. “And I never… actually _touched_ …”

 

“You’ve spent the last few days… lying to me… disobeying me… disrespecting me at every turn,” Wilson persisted softly. He studied House’s face for a long moment, his voice dropping to a cool, speculative whisper. “Why in the world should I let you off _now_?”

 

“Because if you don’t,” House ground out, writhing helplessly against the bed, struggling to intensify the contact between his body and Wilson’s fingers, to achieve some measure of relief, “I’m going to die. And I swear I’ll take you with me, Wilson. Murder suicide. Anything. Anything’s better than this…”

 

Wilson’s eyes narrowed as he tilted his head thoughtfully, a teasing lilt to his voice when he replied slowly. “Don’t really think _threats_ are the way to go right now, House.”

 

“Please… Wilson, _please_ …” House groaned. “I can’t… take… anymore…”

 

“That’s better.” Wilson smiled with satisfaction, as he removed his hand from House’s groin to take the tiny key from the nightstand where he’d left it. “Much better, House.”

 

House looked up at the loss of contact, eyes widening as he let out a shaky sigh of relief at the sight of the key.

 

“Yes,” he whispered gratefully. “Finally… thank you… thank you…”

 

The near-reverence of House’s tone left Wilson wondering whether House was speaking to him, or to the Deity whose existence he denied. Wilson laughed softly as he turned the key in the tiny lock on the cage, and it opened in his hand. House drew in a sharp hiss of breath through his teeth as the strap fell away as well, and Wilson set it aside – only to abruptly replace it with a strong, restraining hand around the base of House’s instantly hard cock.

 

Leaning over House to meet his eyes with a crafty smile, Wilson spoke softly, his words a statement and a question at the same time.

 

“You won’t ever lie to me again.”

 

Desperate, frantic with need, House shook his head, eyes closed against the overwhelming sensations, both physical and emotional, that Wilson was awakening within him.

 

“No… no, never… please…”

 

“Or disobey me. Or disrespect me. You’re not going to try to trick me again… are you, House?”

 

“I won’t, I swear I won’t,” House gasped, fists clenching beside his head as Wilson’s grip tightened. “Please, Wilson… _please_ …”

 

Wilson stroked his thumb hard along the underside of House’s swollen, aching cock, eliciting a despairing sound, somewhere between a moan and a sob, from the lips of the older man.

 

“This isn’t because you deserve it,” Wilson informed him softly. “This is because I _choose_ it. And… look at me…”

 

With a supreme effort, House looked up, meeting Wilson’s gaze through hazy, unfocused eyes. Wilson smiled down at him, though his dark eyes were solemn and intent. His words were slow, even, and certain when he spoke again.

 

“Next time… you’ll go _two_ days, House. At least. Clear?”

 

“Clear,” House echoed in a breathless whisper. “Please… Wilson, please, just… just…”

 

“Oh, shut up already.”

 

Wilson muttered the words in good-natured annoyance, as he loosened his grip on House’s erection and slid his hand lightly up and down its length a few times, carefully climbing to kneel on the bed, straddling House’s hips. Hours of unfulfilled arousal left House’s every nerve impossibly sensitive, and he bucked against Wilson’s grip, though Wilson’s weight across his hips kept him from moving much, and he dared not lower his hands, lest Wilson might still change his mind.

 

It only took Wilson moments to bring House to the completion he had sought all day.

 

House’s vision faded into blackness, tinged with bright splotches of darkened color. He was floating, surging on a wave of overwhelming pleasure and fulfillment, as Wilson continued stroking him until his orgasm began to fade away into oblivion.

 

The interminable day of tormenting denial ended in the most mind-blowing, amazing orgasm House had ever experienced.

 

Wilson smiled with smug satisfaction as he rolled off House, onto his side on the bed beside him, reaching up a tender hand to stroke through his hair. Neither man spoke, each lost in their own vastly differing thoughts. Wilson felt a sense of contentment and achievement, silently congratulating himself on what seemed to be a lesson well learned.

 

Unbeknownst to him, House was silently wondering at the fact that the reward almost seemed worth the day’s punishment – and slowly concocting various ways in which he might earn such punishment again.


	11. Secret

“So… I’m thinking I didn’t exactly start off the right way with the whole Vicodin thing.”

 

House glanced up at Wilson’s unexpected statement, a single brow quirked upward speculatively, before he returned his gaze to the television. He was silent as Wilson took his keys and wallet from the end table and put them into his pocket, heading for the coat rack and pulling on his jacket. House finally responded under his breath as he turned off the television and rose to his feet.

 

“No shit.”

 

Wilson sighed as he opened the door, waiting in the doorway while House put on his coat and got ready to leave.

 

“I know, I know… I’ll admit, I was a little… overzealous, at first. Probably… expected too much,” Wilson conceded. “So… we’re going to start over on that part of our arrangement, and start more slowly this time.”

 

“Slow is good,” House nodded with a careless shrug, trying not to show how intensely interested he really was in the turn the conversation had taken. “The slower the better. Wouldn’t want to shock my system too much.”

 

Wilson shot him a dark, knowing look as he unlocked his car door and walked around to the driver’s side. He waited until they were both in the car and driving away from the curb before he continued.

 

“You’re used to taking… what? Probably about… one pill every… hour and a half?”

 

House gave him a startled look, surprised by his accuracy, but did not respond.

 

“Just during your waking hours, of course,” Wilson went on with a half-shrug, eyes focused on the windshield. “I don’t think you’re quite to the point of getting up in the middle of the night to take an extra Vicodin.” He paused, taking in a deep breath before adding, “You probably just take the extra one before you go to bed. And in the morning when you get up, too. Right?”

 

House let out a sarcastic, scoffing laugh, rolling his eyes as a means to avert his gaze. “Please. You are _so_ far off.”

 

Wilson just cast a skeptical glance in House’s direction before looking out the windshield again – waiting.

 

“Okay, fine. That’s… pretty much exactly true,” House admitted at last. “I’m going home tonight and searching out all your hidden cameras, though, so your fun is over.”

 

“I don’t _need_ hidden cameras,” Wilson reminded him with a rueful grin. “I live with you now, remember?” He was quiet for a moment before continuing thoughtfully. “I’ll start you off with the amount you’re used to, today, and gradually decrease the amount over time. Every few days, we’ll cut it back just slightly… so slightly that you probably won’t even notice it…”

 

“Oh, trust me. I’ll notice,” House informed him dubiously. “And in that case, you missed one this morning already.” He held out his hand expectantly. “Gimme.”

 

Wilson hesitated just a moment, before reaching into his pocket and taking out the tiny orange vial containing House’s medication. He struggled with it for a few moments, trying to open it one-handed, while keeping his other hand on the steering wheel – without success.

 

“Here, let me,” House suggested impatiently, reaching for the vial.

 

Wilson irritably held his hand away, out of House’s reach – but then froze, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow as he reconsidered. He gave House a wary look as he slowly extended his hand, holding out the bottle to his friend.

 

House’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, wondering at Wilson’s sudden change of heart. Cautiously, he took the bottle from Wilson’s hand, holding it within Wilson’s range of vision as he expertly flipped the cap off with one hand, as Wilson had been unable to do, catching it in the other hand before tapping a single pill out into his palm and tossing it down his throat. Making sure that Wilson saw everything he did during the entire process, he returned the cap to the bottle and held it out to Wilson again.

 

Wilson’s shoulders visibly relaxed as he took it and put it away again, a slight smile of relief and satisfaction forming on his lips – and House instantly understood.

 

It was a test.

 

Wilson had been reluctant to hand over the Vicodin, knowing that House could very easily refuse to give it back. However, House’s choice of obedience told him that his lesson of the night before had taken, better than he had expected. Despite Wilson’s apprehensions, House seemed to be accepting his decision about the Vicodin much more readily than he had anticipated.

 

The apparent success filled Wilson with a sense of relief and optimism… and overwhelming affection for the man sitting beside him. He waited until he parked the car in the parking lot before turning to face House with a warm smile.

 

House gave him a wary look, a single brow raised. “What?”

 

Wilson just shook his head, reaching out a hand to cup the back of House’s head and pull him close for a slow, tender kiss. House responded instinctively, but then drew back, pressing a hand against Wilson’s chest and holding him away for a moment to meet his gaze with confusion in his searching eyes.

 

“Someone might see,” he reminded Wilson in a hoarse whisper. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

 

Wilson shook his head, still smiling with something resembling adoration in his dark eyes. “Not right now, it doesn’t.”

 

He leaned in close to resume the kiss, and this time House surrendered to it fully, pulling Wilson closer to him and deepening their contact, until finally, both had to break away at the same time, breathless and more than a little aroused. House studied Wilson’s face out of the corner of his eyes as they sat there, catching their breath.

 

After a moment, he let out a soft laugh.

“What?” Wilson asked, slightly defensive.

 

“Nothing.” House shook his head. He was silent for a moment before changing his mind and answering with gentle mockery. “You’re such a girl.”

 

Wilson smirked, unoffended by House’s words, as he reached for the door, ready to go inside.

 

“Yeah, well. You don’t seem to mind.”

 

*****************************

 

It took House about two minutes with his team to figure out that something was… off.

 

All three were strangely quiet, avoiding eye contact with him, while exchanging secretive, knowing looks amongst themselves. Every now and then, House caught one of them, usually Cameron, looking at him when they thought he wasn’t looking – only to look away again hurriedly the moment he glanced their way.

 

It was difficult to maintain their focus on the rather simple case at hand, as they all seemed highly distracted by whatever shared secret lay between them. Once or twice, Cameron or Chase would open their mouths, as if about to ask him a question – but every time, they seemed to lose their nerve before they could bring themselves to speak.

 

At last irritated, House demanded, “Will someone _please_ tell me what the hell is going on today that I don’t know about?”

 

“Nothing,” Chase insisted with feigned innocence. “Nothing at all.”

 

“Fine,” House snapped, appearing to give up with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Foreman, go administer the treatment to the patient. Cameron, go check on that second set of test results. Chase…” He hesitated, considering, before giving the young doctor a malicious smirk. “… go check with Cuddy and see how many clinic hours I owe, and how many of those hours you can cut down before the end of the day.”

 

His team began to disperse, Chase cursing quietly under his breath in irritation at House’s vindictive orders, which always seemed to be aimed in _his_ direction, for some reason. House made his way toward the doorway between the conference room and his own office, hesitating just as Cameron was stepping out into the hall.

 

“Cameron.”

 

She froze in her tracks, not turning around for a long moment, before reluctantly following him across the room and into his office. Her eyes were large, filled with a trapped expression, as she waited for the inevitable third degree. They both knew perfectly well that, of House’s three fellows, she was the one most likely to fold under his questioning, and reveal the information they were all trying to conceal.

 

“So what’s the big secret?” House asked, giving her a speculative look as he sat down slowly behind his desk.

 

“There’s no big secret,” Cameron insisted with a nervous laugh that easily betrayed her lie. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I’m talking about all the pointed looks flying across the room between you and Chase and Foreman during the differential. I’m talking about the awkward silences and evasive remarks every other time I’ve asked what it was about.” House’s voice was quiet, calm, and level as he held her gaze, his own piercing and unyielding. “I’m not an idiot, and I’m not oblivious. I know something is going on, and if you don’t tell me what, I’ll figure out some other way – and you might not care for my methods.”

 

Cameron held his gaze defiantly for a long moment, even as her mind filled with various unpleasant ideas as to how House’s attempts at uncovering the secret could interfere with her own privacy – then finally lowered her gaze with a defeated sigh, swallowing hard, unable to meet his eyes as she reluctantly answered.

 

“Okay. This is… this is… really awkward. I… really shouldn’t be the one telling you this…”

 

“I’ll be the judge of that, once you tell me what ‘this’ is,” House informed her sharply, then waited silently for her to go on, a pointed brow raised in her direction.

 

“Wow. This is… harder than I thought it would be.” Cameron drew in a deep, shaky breath, looking everywhere but into House’s piercing eyes. “Um… yesterday… Chase was in the men’s room, and… he said… well… I don’t even believe it’s true, but… he said he saw your cane, and… and you weren’t alone…”

 

House looked away, rolling his eyes before covering his face with his hand, as he put the pieces together. Cameron’s voice trailed off as she brought herself to look at him long enough to notice his reaction. Her eyes widened, her jaw dropping in stunned disbelief.

 

“My God,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly. “It _is_ true. You and… and _Wilson_?”

 

“What was Chase doing looking under the stall doors, anyway?” House muttered irritably, but his attempt at deflection only served to confirm the answer to Cameron’s question. “Sounds a little kinky to me.”

 

“He wasn’t _looking_ under the door. He happened to notice your cane, way over by the door of the stall, and he wondered if you were okay,” Cameron explained hurriedly, defensively. “But then he… he saw that there were… two… sets of… of shoes, and…”

 

“And naturally, his concern for my wellbeing required him to come back to the conference room and share his _concerns_ with you and Foreman.”

 

House’s tone was scathing and bitterly angry, but his expression was distant, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what was the best way of handling the rather awkward revelation of his and Wilson’s secret.

 

“So… it’s true, then,” Cameron repeated, studying his face closely. “You two are… a couple?”

 

House looked up to return her gaze, hesitating a moment, considering his options – before deciding that really, he had none.

 

“Yes. We are.”

 

Cameron blinked as if startled, swallowing hard as she lowered her gaze. She nodded slowly, once, before turning and heading swiftly toward the door – but not before House caught the clear disappointment in her eyes. Any traces of hope she might have still been holding for him had been dashed by the revelation of his relationship with another man.

 

 _And I just wonder what Chase might think about that,_ House mused. _His girlfriend still carrying a torch for me, running off to the ladies’ room to cry because I’m suddenly taken._

House smiled slightly to himself, imagining how eagerly Chase must have run from the bathroom to the conference room to reveal what he had observed in the men’s room – and suddenly, Cameron’s reaction to his news was infinitely more satisfying.

 

****************************

 

“So, what was up with your team today?” Wilson asked in the car on the way home that evening, his tone light and conversational, unconcerned. “They seemed a little… edgy. I tried to say hi to Cameron in the cafeteria, and she could barely even look at me. She mumbled something and hurried off. And a couple of times in the clinic, I caught Chase giving me weird looks.” He paused, giving House a speculative smirk. “What nasty prank did you pull on them that they – for some unknown reason – seem to think I had something to do with?”

 

House was quiet for a long moment. He drew in a long breath, letting it out slowly, weighing his words before he spoke. Finally, he replied in a calm, casual voice.

 

“Chase saw us making out in the men’s room the other night and told Cameron and Foreman. Cameron asked me today if we were a couple, and I told her that we were.”

 

“W-what?” Wilson sputtered, and the car swerved slightly as he turned his head to stare at House in disbelief – and something akin to panic. “You – you _told_ her?”

 

House felt an uncomfortable queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach at the alarm in Wilson’s eyes. He swallowed hard, trying to moisten his suddenly dry mouth, as he studied Wilson’s expression for a long moment, then stared down at his own hands on his knees.

 

His voice quiet and carefully level, he replied, “I had no choice. She already knew, anyway. Chase saw us. So… I saw no reason to lie about it.” He paused a moment before adding, “No reason to… be ashamed of it.”

 

Wilson blinked, still a bit stunned, but then nodded slowly, trying to focus his attention on the road. “No, no, of course not,” he murmured thoughtfully, but his expression, his voice, were distant and preoccupied. “It’s just… it’d have been better if… if we could have kept it a secret. For now, anyway.”

 

“Right,” House replied with an almost inaudible sigh. “Better not to let anyone know. Who knows what people would say?”

 

Wilson didn’t seem to notice the subtle sarcasm in House’s voice. He let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head slightly, but the forced lightness of his response did little to conceal the troubled expression in his dark eyes. House felt his nausea increase with the realization of how much the revelation of their secret really did bother Wilson.

 

“Well… I guess we’re about to find out.”

 

**************************

 

House was quiet for the rest of the evening – but Wilson was too preoccupied to notice.

 

He made dinner for both of them, and then they sat down in front of the television for a few hours; but both men knew that Wilson wasn’t really paying any attention to it. Every now and then, he asked a question about the specifics of what Cameron had said, or made a guess as to what one or another of their colleagues might think or say the next day at work – just often enough to let House know that there was nothing else on his mind.

 

Finally, Wilson sighed and rose to his feet, stretching his arms before rubbing some of the tension from the back of his neck and heading toward the bedroom door.

 

“I’m beat,” he announced. “You coming to bed?”

 

“In a little while,” House replied without taking his eyes from the television.

 

Any other time, Wilson would have noticed the taut, icy tone of House’s voice; but tonight, his mind was far too busy to pick up on it. He made his way into the bedroom, got undressed, and lay down in the bed, trying to shut out the troublesome thoughts of the hospital rumor mill, and the grand story it would have made of his and House’s relationship by the following morning.

 

He was just barely beginning to drift off to sleep when he heard House enter the room, felt the mattress depress as House climbed into the bed beside him. Wilson smiled as he felt House’s mouth against his shoulder, working slowly up toward his neck. He wrapped an arm around House in a slow, sleepy motion, drawing him closer and turning his head slightly to give House better access.

 

Wilson didn’t move, allowing House to do as he pleased, as House’s hands trailed slowly down his arms to his wrists, drawing his arms slowly up over his head. Distracted by House’s kisses, and by his own slowly stirring arousal, Wilson didn’t notice as House drew his left wrist toward the bedpost – didn’t notice until it was too late, and his wrist was firmly bound in the leather cuff that was still attached there.

 

Wilson opened his eyes abruptly, staring up incredulously at his wrist, before turning his disbelieving attention to the other bedpost, where House was deftly fastening his right wrist in place.

 

“House,” he mumbled, his voice slurred with sleep. “House… what are you doing?”

 

“Surprised, huh?” House muttered, and Wilson was surprised and unsettled by the anger in his voice. “Yeah. Of course you are. After all – this is all about what _you_ want, isn’t it? You want to control everything – what I do, what I say, who I say it to – because you want to make sure that I stay your freakin’… _dirty little secret_ …”

 

“No,” Wilson objected, suddenly alert. “House, no, that’s not…”

 

“You don’t want anyone thinking that we’re actually a couple. No, that’d be too humiliating for you. Might ruin your pretty playboy image. Maybe _that’s_ it. Maybe you just want to keep our relationship a secret so that you can still be free to do whatever you want… with _whoever_ you want. You make this huge freakin’ deal about the fact that I’m yours – but you, you’re still your own man, right? Still free to do whatever the hell you please!”

 

House’s voice was seething with resentful fury, and when he leaned down for another kiss, he practically attacked Wilson’s mouth, taking out his anger and hurt, plundering Wilson’s mouth with tongue and teeth until he tasted blood. When he withdrew, Wilson was breathless, gasping for air to respond.

 

“No,” he whispered at last, breathing hard. “House… no, you’ve got it all wrong. I don’t want anyone but you… never again, I swear it.” He hesitated a moment, trying to catch his breath, before meeting House’s eyes intently and adding softly, “House… I swear to you… I am every bit as much yours as you are mine. I’m just… worried about what people will think, how this will effect our jobs, our work environment. I’m not… not _ashamed_ of you – and I don’t want anyone else. I am going to be completely faithful to you, House, I promise.”

 

House studied his face for a long moment, a searching expression in his unusually vulnerable blue eyes. He swallowed hard, uncertainty and doubt evident on his face… before his expression slowly hardened again, his jaw setting with stubborn, unyielding determination.

 

His voice dropped to a low, possessive snarl, as he finally responded to Wilson’s heartfelt words.

 

“You’d better _believe_ you’re mine!” His hands locked in a painfully tight grip around Wilson’s bound wrists, as he leaned in and claimed Wilson’s mouth once more. “Tonight – even if it’s _only_ tonight – you’re _mine_."


	12. Consequences

"Okay, House... You need to... s-stop this... right now..."

 

Wilson's somewhat breathless attempt at a calm, controlled command was made somewhat less effective by the slight break in his voice over the words, as House slipped a rough, possessive hand into the front of the pajama pants he was wearing -- which happened to be the _only_ thing he was wearing.

 

"You don't really want me to," House pointed out in a softly bragging voice. "You're enjoying this, in spite of yourself..."

 

"House... I mean it," Wilson persisted, though his voice was trembling and embarrassingly higher than usual. "Untie me. _Now_."

 

"No," House bluntly refused, all traces of amusement suddenly vanished from his eyes as they locked onto Wilson's wide, questioning gaze. "For once, I'm going to show _you_ what it's like to be completely out of control -- to be at the mercy of someone else for a change. You like to be in control so much? Well, personally, I think this should be a necessary process for you, before you can earn that right."

 

"House... I didn't agree to this. I don't want this," Wilson insisted, his voice somewhat stronger now, alarmed by the wicked gleam he saw in House's eyes. He pulled uselessly against the leather cuffs at his wrists as he demanded, "Untie me, now," in a voice that shook slightly with the beginning traces of panic. "You will stop, now, House, or I swear to you, I will..."

 

His words broke off in a breathless moan as House's surprisingly skillful hand set to work under his pajama pants, teasing and tormenting his half-hard member to swift, erect attention.

 

"You'll what?" House taunted him softly with a self-satisfied smirk. "Should I actually be scared of you, for some reason? You know, you're really not all that convincing like this."

 

"House, I mean it," Wilson repeated, though he knew by now that his attempts were utterly useless. "I want you to stop. I'm _ordering_ you to stop. If you don't... you'll regret it later. I promise."

 

House just smiled down at him, shaking his head slowly as Wilson opened his eyes with an effort to gauge House's expression. Utterly unconcerned, House leaned down over him and spoke in a low, almost predatory tone next to his ear.

 

"Only once I decide to let you up."

 

A little shiver that was half fear, half arousal went down Wilson's spine, and he pulled against his bonds again, the attempt only confirming what House's words had already made clear.

 

He was helpless -- utterly at House's mercy.

 

And he wasn't entirely sure that he didn't like the idea.

 

Still, he tried one more time to make House think that he didn't.

 

"I'm... telling you I don't want this," he repeated, gasping as House's nimble fingers played teasingly around the head of his swelling erection. "House... untie me. You _don't_ have my consent."

 

"Please," House sneered in a soft, knowing voice, as his free hand shifted up to slide Wilson's pajama pants down around his thighs. "Try it again -- but try to sound a little less beside yourself with pleasure when you do."

 

House continued for a few moments, stroking, caressing Wilson's body, one hand focusing on his package, while the other slid up his chest to play teasingly over the sensitive skin of his stomach, his ribs, then up to lightly rub over his nipples. Every touch was surprisingly gentle, loving, affectionate despite House's initial, rougher handling of his body.

 

Finally, once Wilson had betrayed his own desire with an entirely unintentional upward thrust of his hips toward House's exploring hand, House drew away, resting on his knees beside Wilson as he looked down at the younger man with a smug, knowing smile.

 

"Still want me to stop?"

 

Wilson let out a little whine of frustration, torn between sticking to his original command and maintaining some semblance of his pride, or simply surrendering to the expert pleasure House was inflicting on his needy, desperate body. The light brush of House's fingertips against the inside of Wilson's thigh finally made up his mind, even as House slyly murmured words that now sounded more threatening than reassuring.

 

"Because... you know I'll stop... if you really want me to. I'm not going to force myself on you, Wilson. I'm not some... perverted freak who gets off on dominating other people."

 

Wilson was too aroused, too eager for House to continue his attentions, to rise to the taunting bait. He shook his head, eyes closed as he laid his head back on the pillow behind him and nearly whimpered.

 

"D-don't... don't stop. For God's sake, House, don't stop..."

 

Reassured that his lover's refusals were really not meant as seriously as he had wanted House to believe, House renewed his efforts. His hands were gentle at first, but gradually became harder, more possessive, as they wandered over Wilson's exposed flesh, and his lips fell on Wilson's throat in a bruising, angry kiss.

 

"You think you can play with me -- just keep me on the side like some little toy you can come back to, whenever some nurse or candy striper or freakin' _dying cancer patient_ actually sees through your routine and has the good sense to run like hell? I'm not your dirty little secret, Wilson. I'm not just a... a convenient lay you can keep on the side and never tell anyone about in case it ruins your chances with someone else!"

 

"No," Wilson whispered, shaking his head, barely coherent through the violent onslaught of physical sensation House was creating in his body, but desperate to make House understand. "House... no... it's not... not like that..."

 

"When I'm through with you," House continued, ignoring his attempts at explanation, his voice low and almost frightening in its intensity, "you won't ever _want_ anyone else."

 

Even as the desperation rose in House's voice, his hands on Wilson's body gentled, moving with slow adoration, near reverence, and Wilson felt a sudden constriction in his throat, and a suspicious prickling sensation behind his eyes -- sensations he was utterly unfamiliar with feeling in a situation like this.

 

"I'm going to blow your mind," House whispered against his throat before closing his teeth around the sensitive skin there in a possessive little bite that made Wilson gasp at the mingled pleasure and pain of it. "I'm going to leave you so amazed... so... so absolutely blown away... that you'll be ruined for anyone else. No one else will ever do it for you the way that I can..."

 

Even through the distraction of House's mouth and hands working over him, Wilson couldn't miss the heart-rending strain of desperation in the older man's voice, and a swift ache of guilt started in his chest as he realized the effect his thoughtless actions had caused.

 

"House... no..." he whispered weakly, though he knew that House wasn't listening anymore, hardly even heard him. "No, you're wrong... I don't... don't want..."

 

"When I'm finished," House murmured breathlessly, fervently, barely aware he was speaking, "you'll never want anyone else... you'll be _proud_ to claim me in public... nothing _anybody_ says will matter..."

 

The tears that had been forming in his eyes slid down his face, and Wilson turned his head away, unwilling to allow House to see the evidence of his tumultuous emotions, afraid even now that such sentiment would only earn him mockery from his friend.

 

 _Not that you don't deserve it. Not after the way you've made him feel... the way you've treated him today... for the past few days..._

 

"House... I only want _you_..." Wllson whispered insistently, pulling against his bonds, no longer with the intent to escape, but with the desperate need to embrace House and hold him close to him, to reassure him of how he really felt. "House... please, you've... got it all wrong. I'm so... so sorry... I didn't... d-didn't know you... felt..."

 

House ignored him, not listening as his rough, possessive hands roamed over Wilson's body, feasting on every sensation of contact as if it might be the last, as his mouth worked it's way slowly downward from his stomach with a series of randomly interspersed sharp nips and tender kisses.

 

 _And maybe that's what he thinks... maybe he thinks that after this..._

 

"House..." Wilson's voice came out in a hoarse groan. "House... listen to me..."

 

But a moment later, whatever Wilson would have said was swallowed up in mindless physical sensation, as the heat of House's mouth abruptly surrounded his swollen arousal. Wilson's words choked off in a strangled cry of pleasure and need, and his back arched against the bed beneath him as he strained against the cuffs at his wrists.

 

House's strong hands roughly shoved him down against the mattress again, holding him in place and not allowing him to move as he brought Wilson to the brink of fulfillment -- only to draw back, replacing the intensity of his motions with light, teasing licks and kisses that only served to draw out Wilson's anguished anticipation.

 

"How do you like it?" House muttered with resentment in his voice, though when his mouth resumed its non-verbal work, it was nothing but gentle. "Being completely in someone else’s control -- whether you come or whether you wait for hours being totally out of your hands -- and in the hands of someone who'd probably _love_ to see you suffer for a while? How do _you_ like it, Wilson?"

 

Wilson opened his mouth to respond, but House took him in all at once again, and all conscious thought fled his mind. This time, House worked insistently at his cock, one hand edging inward to brush the underside of Wilson's swollen sac -- and that light contact, in combination with the intensity of House's other efforts, was all it took.

 

With a choked cry of helpless pleasure, Wilson's release overtook him -- and House held him there, in his mouth, readily swallowing down the remnants of his arousal.

 

As House slowly drew away, backing up onto his knees on the mattress between Wilson's parted, trembling legs, Wilson collapsed against the bed, gasping for breath, overwhelmed with too many physical and emotional sensations to process. As the aftershocks of his orgasm faded away, the more troubling thoughts of House's earlier words -- the heartbreaking sentiments he had unintentionally revealed -- filled Wilson's mind, and he swallowed hard, trying to moisten his dry mouth enough to speak.

 

"House..."

 

House just shook his head as he climbed awkwardly to his feet, a look of defeat on his face, in spite of the mastery he had so expertly claimed only moments earlier. Wilson felt a cold sensation building in his chest at the lost, hopeless look he saw in House's eyes, and renewed his struggles against the bonds that held him to the bed.

 

"House... wait... _talk_ to me..."

 

But House ignored him, eyes downcast, as he found his cane beside the bed, and made his way slowly and painfully toward the bathroom. Wilson's mind raced, trying to fathom what House could be thinking, what confounding conclusions he might have reached, what his motivations were for this entire incident.

 

Several possibilities came to mind -- and none of them were good.

 

When House stepped into the bedroom again, Wilson had recovered a bit. He studied House's face cautiously, troubled by the carefully closed up expression he saw there, as well as by the uncharacteristic quiet of his friend.

 

"House... hey... come here," he gently urged him, frustrated at his own helplessness to compel his request, yet keeping his voice soft and even. "We need to talk about this..."

 

"No, we don't," House cut him off in a low voice of resignation.

 

As he spoke, he came near to the bed and drew Wilson’s pajama pants up around his waist again, then pulled the blankets up over Wilson's bound form, with a care and concern that set that tight ache to work in Wilson's chest again. House met his eyes for just a brief moment before making his way toward the door -- and that moment was enough to break Wilson's heart.

 

"I'll sleep on the couch tonight," House said simply, his voice barely over a whisper as he turned off the bedroom light and stepped out the door. "Good night."

 

"House... House!"

 

Wilson called after him, his voice urgent, but weak with exhaustion, as he pulled one last time against the leather cuffs, but found himself ironically outwitted by his own careful purchase of cuffs that could not be easily escaped by their wearer. He had intended said quality to keep House at his mercy -- and now, they prevented him from getting to House, to plead for his mercy, and forgiveness, for Wilson's own stupidity.

 

"I'm sorry," he called softly into the darkness -- unsure whether or not House even heard him at all.

 

When House did not respond, or return, Wilson finally gave up, resigning himself to the fact that he would be there, bound to the bed and helpless to make any difference in their situation, until House decided otherwise.

 

 _Really, it's not more than you deserve,_ he silently berated himself. _You're the one who missed the signs, missed how he was feeling, and let him believe that you're only using him... ashamed of him. You_ deserve _to lie here like this all night, alone and uncomfortable._

 

He _was_ uncomfortable, his wrists beginning to ache and itch slightly from their bondage, but in no pain -- so gradually, the heady, pleasant exhaustion of his climax began to overtake him.

 

Despite his fears and helpless concerns, Wilson felt himself finally drift off to a dreamless sleep.

 

The next morning, Wilson awakened to find that the slight discomfort of the night before had become a sharp ache that woke him from his sleep, drawing him abruptly to wakefulness. He blinked, disoriented, into the sunlight filtered through the bedroom blinds for a few moments, as the events of the night before gradually came back to him -- along with a sick feeling of apprehension, and urgent need.

 

He had to find House -- had to talk to him, try to make things right between them.

 

"House?" he called out, his voice a weak, sleepy croak, but nevertheless audible, he knew, in the stillness of the apartment.

 

There was no response.

 

Wilson glanced up to the leather cuff at his right wrist with frustration, before turning his eyes toward his other wrist -- and finding it, surprisingly, free. He frowned in confusion, before his gaze fell on the nightstand beside the bed -- and the tiny silver key that lay there.

 

A warm, sad smile of affection came unbidden to Wilson's lips as he reached out his free hand to the key, then brought it hurriedly toward the lock on the other cuff. His hand was shaking, he realized with increased frustration, as he struggled to fit the key in the lock for a few moments, before finally finding success and freeing himself.

 

As the cuff fell away, he struggled to steady himself on trembling, tired arms, sitting up on the bed and lurching unsteadily to his feet. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told him that it was still quite early, an hour or so yet before he had to be at work.

 

"House?" he called again with urgency as he made his way out into the hallway. “House? Are you here?”

 

The apartment was empty.

 

With a weary sigh, Wilson returned to the bedroom and reached into the closet for clean clothes, hurriedly dressing himself and preparing for work. He didn’t need to look outside, to see the empty parking space where House’s car usually was, in order to know that House had gone to work early this morning. And, as that was something House almost never did of his own accord, Wilson knew that the reason for it did not bode well for their relationship.

 

House was trying to avoid him.

 

Either afraid of Wilson’s retaliation for the events of the night before – _assuming he’s even planning on this relationship going on at all_ – or just disgusted and hurt enough by Wilson’s careless behavior that he no longer cared to see him at all, House had deliberately left without waking him, deliberately avoiding any contact of any kind.

 

Wilson bit back a sigh as he made his way swiftly to his car, knowing that he didn’t deserve to feel the self-pity rising up within him. He had created this mess with his own self-absorbed carelessness.

 

Still – he knew it was going to be a _very_ long and difficult day.


	13. Vulnerability

Wilson took a deep breath as he entered the hospital, glancing automatically around for House, though it was fairly unlikely that he would find him in the clinic. Wilson wasn't used to the queasy, unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach, at the thought of the confrontation he knew was to come, and the uncertainty of how it would go.

 

He paused outside the door to his own office, his hand resting on the handle, as he glanced anxiously toward the office next door. He let out a long, shaky breath, making up his mind, as he let go of the handle and started down the hall toward House's office.

 

House's team was in the conference room, just settling in for the morning, not even having begun working on the new case Cuddy had given House when he had arrived. Foreman was pouring a cup of coffee, while Cameron and Chase sat at the table, talking quietly, and trying not to glance in House's direction.

 

House was seated at his own desk, the door between the two rooms closed. His eyes focused on something in front of him, he didn't seem to notice at first when Wilson walked in.

 

Wilson hesitated, suddenly utterly at a loss as to what to say. So, in place of words, he simply cleared his throat to alert House to his presence, though he could barely bring himself even to meet the other man's eyes.

 

House looked up at him, eyes widening slightly in surprise when he saw Wilson standing in front of him. He swallowed hard, a flash of _something_ \-- dismay, or fear, or confusion -- in his eyes as he rose to his feet, grasping his cane and taking a step toward the conference room door.

 

"We'll have to chat later," he informed Wilson curtly, looking away from him as he spoke. "I have a patient. My team is waiting." He paused, glancing up at Wilson with a cool, bitter smile. "Wouldn't want them to get the _right_ idea."

 

Wilson hesitated, not wanting to let it go so easily. "House... we have to talk."

 

"Not now, we don't. Now, we have to _work_ ," House corrected, brushing past him impatiently and walking into the conference room, leaving Wilson standing alone in his office.

 

Wilson just stood there a moment, stung by House's dismissal. He lowered his head, his face flushing with embarrassment, before turning and walking out the door, heading back toward his own office.

 

He hadn't quite reached it when his jaw set with sudden resolve, and he raised his head, squaring his shoulders and turning back toward the conference room.

 

He pushed the door open and stalked inside, only vaguely aware as the hum of voices gradually died away with his entrance.

 

House's team didn't matter to Wilson.

 

All that mattered right now was that House knew the truth, once and for all -- that House mattered more to him than anyone's opinions, anyone's approval or disapproval, or any rumors that would most assuredly make their way through the hospital when he was finished carrying out the insanely impulsive idea that had just formed in his mind.

 

He ignored the curious stares as he walked up to House with purposeful confidence, closing the distance between them in a matter of seconds, drawing so near, in fact, that House took an unconscious step backward, watching him with wary uncertainty.

 

Without hesitation, Wilson reached out a hand to thread through the hair at the back of House's neck, pulling him close to kiss him soundly, thoroughly, his tongue pressing gently but firmly against the barrier of House's barely parted lips. Encouraged and relieved when House's mouth opened to grant him entrance, Wilson continued the kiss for a few seconds longer, his free hand resting at House's hip to steady him.

 

When he finally drew back, both men were breathless -- and House's team was wide-eyed and speechless, staring in amazement.

 

Wilson turned to face them, the hand that had rested at House's hip sliding casually around his waist in a subtly possessive gesture.

 

"The rumors are true," he stated calmly, meeting each of the younger doctors' eyes in turn. "House and I are together. We're a couple. If any of you, or anyone else in this hospital, has a problem with that, well... I don't care. It's nobody's business but our own, and no one else's opinion matters."

 

Wilson turned to meet House's astonished gaze, his voice and expression softening. "Except yours," he amended quietly. "If _you_ have a problem with it -- _then_ I care. Because... I want you to be happy."

 

He edged closer to House, who was studying his face with a vulnerable wonder in his searching blue eyes, unaware that he was biting his lower lip, his brow creased in an uncertain frown. Wilson turned his back on House's team, lowering his voice so that his next words were known only to House.

 

"I want you to want this. I'm aware I've already screwed it up -- more than once. But... there's nothing I can do to fix it, unless you'll let me."

 

Without another word, Wilson allowed his arm to trail along House's waist as he took a slow step backward, holding House's gaze for a moment that felt longer than it was, before finally turning and striding out of the conference room, as abruptly as he had entered it.

 

Wilson barely had time to seat himself at his desk -- his pulse racing, damp palms running through his hair as he tried to catch his breath -- when his office door opened again, and House walked in, slamming the door forcefully behind him.

 

"What the hell was that?" House demanded, stopping directly in front of Wilson's desk, looming angrily over him, so close that his legs brushed the front of the desk.

 

"Hopefully," Wilson calmly replied, raising his head to meet House's eyes, "that was you, getting the message that I am _committed_ to you. This isn't a joke or a game to me, and I'm not in any way ashamed to call you my own."

 

Uncertainty and fear to believe it became anger and frustration in House's voice. His blue eyes blazed with indignant accusation as he raised his cane in a wild, waving gesture to emphasize his words.

 

"You can't just walk into my office and perform this grand dramatic gesture and expect it to make me forget about the last few days you've spent treating me like your own personal sex toy. One impressively romantic act doesn't make everything right again, Wilson. I've seen three marriages' worth of your romantic gestures, and I know they come about as easily to you as the fake sympathy you give your patients -- and mean about as much."

 

Wilson winced at the double insult House had cast his way, shaking his head as he rose to his feet behind the desk, then walked slowly around it to move closer to House. House instinctively backed away, a wary look in his eyes, but Wilson kept advancing, not allowing House to avoid him.

 

"It wasn't just a meaningless romantic gesture, House. It was, hopefully, romantic -- but to me, it meant a lot.” He was quiet for a moment, eyes searching as he looked up at House and asked gently, “Isn't that what you wanted? To know that I'm not ashamed of you, House? To know that I'm willing to claim you publicly? Isn't that what you said?"

 

House swallowed hard, visibly unnerved by Wilson's closeness, continuing to back away until his back was to the wall next to the sofa. He realized too late that he had backed himself into a corner, trapped between the desk and the sofa, with Wilson blocking any possible escape.

 

Wilson's dark eyes shone with affection, amusement, and something darker -- something frightening and exciting at once -- as he sidled yet nearer to House, reaching out his hands to rest at House's waist.

 

"Stop it," House muttered, his gaze self-consciously averted. "Wilson... this isn't going to work. You aren't going to just smooth this over with an... admittedly... really good blow job again. Not – not this time."

 

Wilson's smile widened slightly as he remembered the incident House was referring to, and the memory stirred his desire for the other man. Wilson persisted, gripping House's hips and pushing him back against the wall, shifting in closer until there was no space at all between them. House made a token resistance, half-heartedly pushing at Wilson's hands -- and then giving up, allowing his hands to drop to his sides and leaning back against the wall, as Wilson began to run his hands slowly, possessively, up and down House's sides.

 

"This isn't some ploy to evade the issue and get you to forget about the problems we’ve been having," Wilson assured him softly. "I made a commitment to you. Signed and everything, remember? You agreed to it, too, if I recall.” The mildly teasing note left Wilson’s voice, his smile fading as he added firmly, “You're _mine_ , House, and I'm not going to let you go without a fight..."

 

House's breath had quickened with mingled apprehension and arousal, but he still managed to roll his eyes, letting out an impatient but unsteady sigh.

 

"Right. You're the one who calls all the..."

 

"And I'm yours, too, House."

 

House's scathing words fell away, silenced by the weight of the sincerity in Wilson’s voice, and his eyes widened as he stared at Wilson in stunned disbelief. His head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowed skeptically as he studied his friend's expression, looking for any trace of falsehood or manipulation.

 

He found none.

 

"House... this isn't just about you giving up everything, and me getting all the benefits. The whole reason I initiated this arrangement in the first place is because of _you_ \-- for _your_ own good. And you need to know that... that as much as you are mine... I'm yours, too. I promise."

 

House swallowed hard, lowering his gaze, the intensity of the intimacy in Wilson's eyes suddenly too much for him. Wilson was unwilling to let him pull away, however, and leaned in closer, grabbing the back of House's head and tilting it up again to capture his slightly trembling lips in a fervent kiss, intended to emphasize how fully he meant his words.

 

When he finally drew back, Wilson was as breathless as House, as he struggled to continue.

 

"I... want to be with _you_ , House," he whispered intently, eyes closed as he rested his forehead against House's. "And _only_ you. And I'm not ashamed for anyone to know it. I'll tell anyone you want me to tell. I'll post a memo to the entire hospital if that's what you want."

 

House let out a soft, nervous snort of laughter at that idea, and Wilson laughed softly with him, shaking his head against House's.

 

"That's how badly I need you to know that I'm telling you the truth, House. I promise. You can trust me. I'm committed to you, completely -- for as long as you want me to be."

 

Finally, reluctantly, Wilson drew back slightly to search House's face, dark eyes anxious and uncertain as he tried to gauge the older man's reaction. House's eyes were wide, wondering, his slightly parted lips still betraying his sheer surprise at Wilson's unexpectedly fervent declaration of devotion.

 

Wilson bit his lip in a moment of hesitation, drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders as if steeling himself for some challenge -- and then let out his words in a barely audible breath.

 

"I... I love you."

 

Terrified to wait for House's reaction, Wilson closed his eyes, moving in for another intense kiss that gradually became slow and tender. One hand rested on House's shoulder, the other playing affectionately through his hair, as Wilson allowed the kiss to linger as long as possible, only reluctantly pulling away when he absolutely had to, or risk passing out from lack of oxygen.

 

Hesitantly, Wilson made himself meet House's eyes -- and was stunned and touched to see that they were suspiciously glistening. House swallowed hard, with a visible effort closing his mouth, struggling to maintain his composure in the face of Wilson's momentous declaration.

 

In a rare moment that Wilson wasn't sure he'd ever seen before -- House appeared to be speechless.

 

Wilson licked his lips nervously, feeling suddenly self-conscious and uncertain in the wake of his impulsive but heartfelt words. Without taking much thought for the consequences, for anything but making House understand how much he genuinely cared about him, Wilson had made himself fully vulnerable to the older man, exposing the depth of his feelings at a time when he did not at all expect to have such sentiments returned.

 

He took a slightly awkward step back, eyes lowered as he gave House space to move again. “I – I’ll let you think about this, House. What I said… what you want… if you… if you still want this, at all. I’d understand if you don’t.” He ventured a glance up again, meeting House’s eyes for just a moment before looking down again. “If you do – come find me at the end of the day. I’ll drive you home. If you… if you don’t show up…” Wilson’s voice lowered to a soft, hesitant near-whisper as he concluded, “I’ll… just assume you went home yourself, and… and I’ll find another place to stay tonight.”

 

House said nothing, did not raise his head or nod or give any indication as to his reaction to Wilson’s words.

 

Wilson continued, his voice a little stronger now that the worst was already out. “This isn’t an… all or nothing sort of deal, either, House,” he clarified quietly. “I’m not saying, ‘forgive me now, no question asked, or this is over’. Any concerns you still have, we can discuss tonight… if you decide you want to. It’s just… probably not a good idea to get into it here.” He paused a moment, swallowing hard in a vain attempt to dampen his dry mouth. “Just… just let me know what you want to do.”

 

House remained quiet, not answering at all – and then, still without a word, slowly made his way toward the door. Wilson watched him with troubled, uncertain eyes, as House walked out of his office, quietly closing the door behind him.

 

*******************************

 

They didn't speak again for the rest of the day, and the cold knot of uncertainty in Wilson's stomach grew progressively larger and tighter, as he replayed every detail of their encounter in his mind, over and over again.

 

 _It was too much, too soon. I shouldn't have told him I loved him. Shouldn't have pushed so hard, come on so strong. I should have given him his space right now, waited for him to come to me._

 

Throughout the course of the day, Wilson thought of a dozen different mistakes he had made during the few minutes he had spent with House that morning, and even more things he could have done better, said better.

 

 _I wasted my chance. I messed it all up, and scared him off, and now he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore._

 

As Wilson returned to his office after making his final rounds for the evening, he let out a heavy sigh of resignation, trying to decide which hotel he would check into that night.

 

 _Not the one I just checked out of, that's for sure. Wouldn't_ that _be embarrassing..._

 

His rueful thoughts trailed off, and a frown of confusion formed on Wilson's face as he neared his office, and noticed that the small lamp on his desk was on, though when he had last been in his office, it had been midday, and none of his lights had been on.

 

Wilson barely dared allow himself to hope as he opened the door to his office and stepped inside -- to find House sprawled on his sofa, looking up at him with a soft, thoughtful smile.

 

"So. You ready to go, or what?"


	14. Confession

The drive home was quiet and awkward, though not quite as much so as Wilson had expected. Neither man said much -- neither really sure what remained to be said at that point. Wilson had made his feelings clear on the matter, and House...

 

Well, House never made his _feelings_ clear on _any_ matter.

 

When they arrived home, House immediately made his way to the refrigerator, getting a beer before returning to the sofa and flopping down carelessly onto it. In the same motion, he reached for the remote control, turning on the television and turning it up loud, in an obvious ploy to combat the uncomfortable silence.

 

Wilson went to the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator to see what they had that he could prepare for dinner -- then gave up and went to the telephone instead to order a pizza.

 

Deliberately giving House his space, Wilson kept himself occupied with various domesticities in the kitchen -- cleaning, organizing, and making a much-needed grocery shopping list -- while he waited for the pizza to arrive.

 

Thirty minutes passed in silence that was only slightly less awkward than the drive home had been, punctuated only by House's occasional huffs of sarcastic laughter at whatever sitcom he happened to be watching. Wilson smiled to himself as he worked, thinking that House's amusement was most likely aimed at moments the writers had not intended to be funny.

 

When the pizza arrived, Wilson paid for it and brought it to the coffee table, sitting down on the sofa beside House and opening the box. A moment later, however, he changed his mind and pushed the box closed again, sitting up a little straighter on the sofa and quietly, firmly taking the remote control from House's hand.

 

House raised a single, questioning brow in his direction as Wilson turned the volume on the television all the way down, his dark eyes focused on House's face as he did. House's expression was trying for casual, but not quite succeeding, betrayed by the anxious insecurity in his all-too-expressive eyes.

 

Wilson's voice was quiet and gentle as he said by way of explanation, "We need to talk, House."

 

House returned his gaze to colorful images on the silent television as he replied evenly, "We already did."

 

"No, _I_ did," Wilson corrected. " _You_ were completely silent. Much the same as you are right now."

 

"Hmm," House mused with a falsely thoughtful frown, glancing toward the ceiling. "Wonder if there's a reason for that."

"House," Wilson pressed with gentle insistence, reaching out to take House's hand in his, inwardly cringing even as he did so, at how utterly sentimental and sappy House probably found such a gesture. "I need you to know that I meant what I said, in your office. And... and in _my_ office."

 

To Wilson's relief, House didn't pull his hand away, and finally returned Wilson's gaze with mild speculation in his eyes.

 

"You said that before."

 

"I know, but there's a reason... I mean... I just... need you to know. I'm committed to you, House. I... I love you, and... I'm not going to let you down again."

 

A faintly sarcastic smile formed on House's lips, and he looked away as he responded quietly. "I bet you've said _that_ before, too. At least... oh, I'd say _... three_ times?"

 

Wilson winced slightly, but tried to ignore the defensive jibe, well aware that House was still hurt, still in self-protective mode, despite Wilson's attempts to draw him back to a place of trust.

 

"I mean it, House. I'm not... not perfect. I've made a lot of mistakes... among them, getting married -- to _women_ \-- three times, when I knew all along that was... not where my interests lay."

 

House let out a rude snort of derision, giving a little half-shrug of concession to Wilson's point, and Wilson allowed himself a rueful, self-deprecating smile.

 

"But this time -- this time is different. I'm dedicated to doing the best I can with this -- with _you_ \-- and I promise you that I'm going to be faithful to you, no matter what. I don't want anyone else, ever. I'm... actually... not sure I ever have. And... and I'll do whatever it takes to prove that to you."

 

House studied Wilson's face closely as he gave his earnest speech, glancing away whenever Wilson attempted to make eye contact, but looking back again as soon as Wilson looked away -- trying to gauge his sincerity. When Wilson was finished, House was quiet and thoughtful for a long moment, his gaze downcast as he considered Wilson's words.

 

"I've... heard all that before," he softly confessed at last. "From more than one person. And... eventually, they all proved themselves to be liars."

 

Wilson felt a pang of mingled guilt and sympathy at House's words. He knew his friend well enough to suspect that there was a closet romantic, hidden somewhere beneath the harsh, pragmatic exterior. Even before the infarction, before Stacy, House had his protective walls in place; so Wilson also suspected that, somewhere along the way, someone else had broken his sensitive heart as well. Stacy's betrayal had simply been the final nail in the coffin.

 

The thought that his own carelessness had reawakened those fears smote Wilson’s heart with a sense of regret that was almost a physical pain.

 

"I... have to be realistic," House continued in a carefully even voice, his eyes downcast, avoiding Wilson's perception. "You seem to take great pride and pleasure in proving the fact that you could have pretty much anyone you wanted. I... wouldn't blame you if you eventually get tired of the novelty, or mystery, or whatever, of the... aging, drug-addicted cripple..."

 

Wilson's eyes narrowed with a protectively defensive anger, though even he wasn't quite sure at whom that anger was directed. Abruptly, he leaned in to silence House's self-deprecation with a forceful, thorough kiss.

 

House froze for a moment, stunned by the suddenness of the gesture, hands raised in a half-finished movement of automatic resistance -- then slowly allowed his arms to fall around Wilson, his lips parting in surrender to the possessive onslaught of Wilson's mouth.

 

Finally, Wilson pulled away, meeting House's eyes with a dark intensity that sent a shiver down House's spine. His voice was low and tinged with a dangerous fierceness as he held House's head close to his, his eyes drifting between House's eyes and lips with visible hunger.

 

"That's possibly the stupidest thing you've ever said in your life," he quietly declared. "Gregory House, _you_... are _all_ that I could ever want."

 

"Yeah," House breathlessly retorted, swallowing painfully, his eyes averted in uncertainty and insecurity. " _Right now_. Because right now, I'm what you've _got_ , so..."

 

"Shut up," Wilson muttered angrily, his hands rising to rest on House's shoulders and push him down onto his back on the couch. "Just shut up. If you really have no idea how I actually feel about you... then you're not half the genius everybody thinks you are."

 

House let out a soft groan at his commanding tone and the soft heat as Wilson slid his hands slowly, possessively, up under House's button-down and t-shirt, expert fingers playing over his ribs and stomach.

 

"I'm going to prove it to you, House," Wilson informed him softly. "I'm going to leave no doubt in your mind... that _you_ are the only one I want..."

 

" _Right... now_ ," House repeated, grinding out the words, eyes closed as he struggled not to respond to Wilson's touch. "Because you're thinking with your dick. Because all _it's_ thinking about is finding a place to..."

 

"Shut up," Wilson hissed, raising one hand to cover House's mouth and still his continued attempts at rationalizing away Wilson's behavior. "I mean it, House. That's an order, in case you're wondering. _Shut. Up_." Holding his hand over House's mouth, he lowered his own to House's throat to lavish it with lips and tongue, before raising his eyes to meet House's wary gaze again. His voice softened with affection, eyes glistening with adoration, as he whispered, "And _listen_."

 

He slowly removed his hand, and House did not speak, just held his gaze wonderingly, breathing hard, waiting obediently for Wilson to make the next move.

 

"You think I'm just... _settling_ for you..." Wilson shook his head with a soft huff of disbelieving laughter. "You have _no idea_."

 

He glanced down for a moment, lifting up off of House to hurriedly unfasten the buttons of his shirt, then returned his gaze to House's face, maintaining eye contact as he continued to speak in a soft, intense voice of undeniable passion.

 

"This morning... waking up, with you gone... not knowing if you would even speak to me when I saw you again..." Wilson kissed House again, a desperate need in the kiss that mirrored his voice when he went on in a hoarse, shaky whisper. "All day... not knowing if you were going to let me come home with you tonight... wondering if you were finished with me for good, and this was over..."

 

House's expression softened, eyes widening in awe and disbelief, and he shook his head slightly.

 

"No," he whispered. "No... I couldn't..."

 

Wilson raised his hand to House's mouth again, this time pressing only a single, gentle finger against his lips in a silent reminder to silence.

 

"I wanted you... so badly... all day long..." he whispered. "All day, all I wanted was to just... walk into your office, in front of all of them, and just... just take you, right there... just... just to _claim_ you, to leave no doubt in their minds or in yours... of the fact that you're _mine_... and I'm yours..."

 

House's eyes closed and his breath quickened, a slight catch in it betraying the effect of Wilson's words and the suggestive images they carried. As he spoke, Wilson pushed House's shirt back over his shoulders, but did not give him room to rise and take it off completely -- leaving his arms trapped, useless, behind him. House drew in a sharp breath, letting it out in a gasp as Wilson's hands moved freely over the hot, bare skin of his chest and stomach, the gentle restraint of his own clothing adding to the intensity of stimulation.

 

"Thinking... that I might lose you..." Wilson punctuated his breathless words with tiny, fervent kisses as he moved slowly down House's torso, hands sliding down eagerly toward the fastenings of House's jeans. "It _killed_ me, House... I couldn't... couldn't stand it... thinking... that I'd gone too far... messed up so bad... that I'd lost you..."

 

He raised his head as his lips reached the waistband of House's jeans, meeting House's eyes with a soft, adoring smile.

 

"I'd do anything it takes to keep you, House... anything you ask of me..." He hesitated, his voice almost shy as he added, "I... I _love_ you..."

 

House stared at him in wonder, his breath catching in his throat -- caught off guard by the unbelievable words, no matter that he'd already heard them more than once from Wilson's lips. With a supreme effort, he swallowed back the hard knot of emotion in his throat, looking away and closing his eyes in silence as Wilson unfastened his jeans and began to slide them down.

 

"I love you," Wilson whispered again, sensing House's uncertainty. "Get used to hearing it... because it's the truth... and you deserve it... and it's _never_ going to end, not this time... I love you..."

 

Wilson swiftly suppressed the traces of disappointment he felt that House did not verbally return the sentiment, as he shifted down the sofa, pulling House's jeans with him as he went. He met House's eyes with a wicked wink as he left the jeans around his ankles, winding them around to form a loose restraint. Careful not to hurt House's thigh, Wilson moved back toward him a little, pushing his knees gently apart and settling between them.

 

House let out a sharp gasp of alarm as Wilson's hand slid up from his knees to his thighs, and instinctively tried to clench his legs shut. Gently but firmly, Wilson refused to allow it, pressing slightly and keeping his legs parted, running light, soothing fingertips slowly up and down the insides of House's thighs.

 

Even as House's burgeoning erection twitched in response to the tantalizing contact, House turned his head away from Wilson, shaking it slightly in a silent plea -- though, for what, Wilson had no idea.

 

"Shh," he whispered soothingly, concern in his voice. "House... what is it? What's wrong?"

 

House just shook his head, swallowing hard, tucking his head toward the back of the sofa in what appeared to be a reaction of shame and embarrassment.

 

All at once -- Wilson understood.

 

 _His scar... he doesn't want me to see it..._

 

"House... it's okay," he assured him gently, fingertips trailing cautiously outward to brush the edges of the puckered mark on House's right thigh. "It's all right... you have nothing... nothing to be ashamed of..."

 

House seemed to disagree, burying his face in the upholstery with a quiet groan of dismay, fists clenched at his sides, where his own shirt held them helplessly pinned.

 

"Don't," he whispered, his pleading, desperate voice muffled by the couch against his lips. "Wilson... please..."

 

"It's all right," Wilson repeated. "House... look at me..."

 

House just shook his head in refusal, his thighs trembling against Wilson's hands, taut and defensive, wanting nothing more than to shut Wilson out, but prevented from doing so by the presence of Wilson's body between them.

 

" _House._.." Wilson's soft voice took on a firm note of command. " _Look at me_."

 

Reluctant but resigned, House turned his head to face Wilson, apprehension bordering on panic in his wide blue eyes. He shook his head in a silent plea, swallowing back a sob he would not allow to surface.

 

"You're safe," Wilson assured him, barely over a whisper. "Safe with me. It's all right."

 

As he spoke, repeating soothing words of reassurance, Wilson's hand ghosted lightly over the surface of the scar, and House flinched, instinctively bracing himself against the exposure of his most vulnerable part. Yet, as Wilson's gentle hand brought him no pain, caressing the marred skin with soft, loving strokes, House's trembling gradually began to subside, the near-panicked tension easing back to a wary unease.

 

"I love you, House," Wilson repeated at last, when House seemed to have calmed, no longer expecting pain -- or disgust -- to come from Wilson's attention to his scar. "And that means _all_ of you. I love this, too," he whispered, his hand passing over the scar once more before sliding away, "because it's a part of you -- a part of who you are -- and to me... that makes it... _beautiful_."

 

Without another word, Wilson lowered his mouth to slowly engulf House's erection, and House's back arched in a shock of pleasure, as he drew in a harsh, tremulous gasp.

 

Wilson's fingertips trailed along the insides of House's thighs in light, teasing touches as his mouth worked with loving precision over House's cock, expertly caressing it with lips and tongue to draw out his pleasure as long as possible. Finally, he brought one hand to cup House's balls for a moment, giving them a gentle squeeze as he swallowed around House's erection -- and brought him to completion with a strangled cry of overwhelming pleasure.

 

As House lay there trembling with the aftershocks, Wilson slowly, slightly raised his head, allowing House's softening cock to slip from between his lips, and returning his attention momentarily to House's scar.

 

In a moment of sentimentality so extreme that he half-hoped House wouldn't remember it later, Wilson brushed his lips against the scar in a tender ghost of a kiss, raising his head to whisper again.

 

" _I love you_."

 

Wilson rose up on his knees, anxiously taking in House's reaction to the whole affair -- stunned to see that House was trembling, his face buried in the sofa again, his throat moving convulsively as he swallowed, apparently struggling against tears.

 

Tactfully ignoring the tears, Wilson carefully settled his body over House, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close, caressing his throat with slow, tender kisses that trailed their way toward his mouth. A firm but gentle hand turned House's face back toward Wilson's, but Wilson kept his eyes closed to spare House's pride as he captured House's mouth with his own, enjoying a slow, languorous kiss.

 

" _Wilson_ ," House whispered his name again and again, his voice breathless and trembling, thick with the tears that glistened on his face. "Wilson... Wilson..." As he spoke, House tilted his head forward to rest on Wilson's shoulder in an unusual display of vulnerability.

 

Touched, Wilson tightened his hold on the older man, pulling him closer, as he pressed a kiss to his temple before whispering in a hushed voice of tenderness and affection, "What? What is it, House?"

 

In a halting whisper, choked and uncertain and barely audible beneath the sounds of their labored breathing, House uttered three words that were not the ones he'd hoped for, but nevertheless melted Wilson's heart with the warmth of relief and gratitude and breathtaking joy, as he understood precisely the meaning behind them.

 

"M-me... me, too."


	15. Secrecy

By the time Wilson awakened the next morning to get ready for work, House already had the coffee made, breakfast prepared, and himself ready for work. All in all, it seemed a miraculous transformation from his usual habit of sleeping until around ten and then meandering into work at his own pace.

 

When Wilson walked into the kitchen, House was sitting at the table, fully dressed, reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee. A mostly untouched plate of food sat on the table in front of him, and a completely untouched plate lay in front of the seat across from him. House glanced up at Wilson without speaking as he entered the room. Wilson noticed that he seemed unusually quiet and subdued, but seemed to be in a good mood for so early in the morning.

 

Naturally, Wilson was suspicious.

 

"Good morning," he greeted House in a slow, wary tone, eyeing him skeptically as he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table across from House. "You're up early."

 

House just nodded, a bit self-consciously, not quite meeting Wilson's eyes. "There's gotta be the occasional exception. Otherwise what would prove the rule?"

 

Wilson smiled with a slight nod, accepting House's evasive explanation as he took a sip of his coffee. He looked House over subtly, over the top of his coffee cup, and his smile of affectionate amusement faded into a concerned frown when he saw the nervous way House was tapping his left foot, and the way his right hand rubbed absently at his thigh – his anxious gestures belying his attempt at appearing calm and in control.

 

House had taken two Vicodin before going to bed the night before, so he wasn't likely to be in any great pain just yet -- but Wilson knew that he had probably been up for at least an hour already. By this point, House was likely starting to feel his leg's constant call for attention.

 

Wilson got up without a word and made his way to the bedroom. Taking the vial of pills from the pocket of his coat, he quickly shook them out into his palm and counted them to reassure himself that House had not taken any during the night, before putting all but two back in the bottle.

 

He walked back into the kitchen and stopped at House's side. He reached down to take House’s hand from the table, turning it up and placing the pills on his open palm. House looked up at him with an expression that was both grateful and uncertain, immediately tossing the pills down his throat and swallowing them dry.

 

Wilson rested a gentle hand on House’s shoulder, running a casual hand through his hair in a gesture of affection, before taking his seat at the table again and quietly resuming his breakfast. Neither said much, each simply taking his time waking up, mentally preparing for the day ahead – but the silence was not uncomfortable, and Wilson felt a sense of peaceful satisfaction and optimistic anticipation.

 

 _Looks like I made the right move last night,_ he decided with a private little smile into his coffee cup. _He trusts me now. He believes that I’m going to do what’s right for him – and I will. I will, House. I promise. We’re going to be just fine._

*****************************

 

When House walked into his office that morning – on time, well-groomed, and actually _humming_ cheerfully under his breath – well, naturally his team didn't take long to draw their conclusions.

 

"Funny... last time we saw him like this was that night he spent with his ex, before she left town."

 

Chase whispered his suggestive observations to Cameron when House walked out of the conference room and into his own office to hang up his jacket, but was disappointed when his remark only gained an irritable frown from his girlfriend, instead of the amusement he had hoped for.

 

Cameron didn't seem to be particularly thrilled with this latest development in House's love life.

 

Chase and Foreman, on the other hand, were just happy to see anything that put their boss in a better mood than usual, and therefore made their work day a little easier. If that "anything" happened to be a new romantic relationship with his best friend, well – that just made things all the more intriguing.

 

Ordinarily, the extra attention would have been an annoyance to House; but today, even the curious stares and whispered comments from his team couldn't shake his good spirits.

 

For once, things seemed to be going right in his life.

 

His uncertainties about Wilson's feelings for him had faded away under the power of Wilson's impassioned verbal and physical reassurances, and he found himself, for once in his unhappy and cruelly ironic life, actually venturing to trust another human being.

 

And if there was anyone in the entire world who might be deserving of that trust, House decided… it was Wilson.

 

Wilson had seen the best and the worst of him, in every possible way; and yet, Wilson had still accepted him, in all his infuriating imperfections – had promised that he loved him, that he would keep loving him, that he would do everything in his power to prove it. Throughout House's day, that promise echoed in his mind, reassuring him against the occasional doubts and uncertainties he couldn't quite suppress.

 

Of course, an impulsive mid-morning rendezvous in Wilson's office helped quite a bit as well.

 

Hurried, fevered kisses and urgent touches, tempered with all the gentleness and romance Wilson had spent the last twenty years perfecting, made House’s worries fade away into overwhelming affection and delirious desire.

 

Every word out of Wilson’s mouth seemed perfectly designed to quell his fears, to cement his confidence in Wilson’s intentions. Wilson seemed to anticipate House's doubts, and to be prepared for them, determined to do everything in his power to make House finally believe and accept that he meant every word of the promises he had made the night before.

 

Of course, House knew that it was intentional.

 

Nevertheless – it was working.

 

******************************

 

The next few days passed like a pleasantly hazy dream. House and Wilson were still in the “honeymoon phase” of their relationship, and neither could get enough of the other. They found themselves sneaking off at every available moment – during their workday, as well as after hours – to get a few minutes of privacy, away from the prying eyes of those around them, who lately seemed just as fascinated with their new relationship as they were.

 

House and Wilson were the talk of the hospital – but neither seemed to mind.

 

Wilson insisted on maintaining a certain air of professionalism during their working hours – at least, when they were where anyone could see; but that did not stop him from brushing his hand against House’s leg as they sat in the cafeteria eating lunch, or giving him a quick kiss as they parted for the rest of the afternoon, despite the curious eyes of the other hospital employees.

 

House found himself feeling a sense of pride at the glances people would cast his way in the halls, enjoying the knowledge that they knew he was _taken_ – someone as respected and desirable as Wilson cared enough to want to be with him, to call him his own. It filled him with a pleasant sense of warmth and security to know that Wilson was comfortable being so open about their relationship, willing to let everyone around them know that they were an item.

 

House was surprised to realize that he didn’t even really mind allowing Wilson to dole out his Vicodin doses. After all, Wilson had kept him at the dosage to which he had become accustomed, and House found his fears of being subjected to the pain of having his medication withheld fading away, replaced by a growing sense of trust that Wilson did indeed have his best interests at heart.

 

That trust lasted until the day when Wilson decided to make the first adjustment to House’s medication regimen.

 

House showed up at Wilson's office at the usual time, feeling unusually cheerful, and noting with light-hearted amusement that he was just as excited about the excuse to see Wilson in the middle of his day, as he was about the pill he was there to get.

 

Wilson looked up from the papers he was working on, his dark eyes lighting up with affection as he gave House a warm smile and rose to come around the desk to greet him. As House came within his reach, Wilson leaned back against his desk and pulled House forward, slightly off balance, smothering his laughing protest with a fiercely possessive kiss.

 

House's eyes were hazy when he drew back, breathless, licking his lips as he glanced downward and held out his hand expectantly. His heart sank with instant apprehension as Wilson's smile faded, and the light in his eyes was replaced with anxious uncertainty.

 

"Let's wait just a few minutes," he suggested gently.

 

"I've already waited an hour and a half," House reminded him, an edge of warning to his voice.

 

"So fifteen minutes more won't kill you." Wilson's voice was patient, but firm, as he gave House a slightly stern look. "It's just fifteen minutes, that's all."

 

"So now I'm gonna get a pill every hour and forty-five minutes, instead of every hour and a half?" There was a trembling note of panic in House's voice, and he swallowed convulsively, visibly fighting to conceal his anxiety. "Don't you think that's a little too much too soon?"

 

"Yes," Wilson replied softly, his hands resting at House's waist and pulling him gently, insistently closer to him. His eyes were filled with rueful, subdued amusement, as he explained, "I _do_ think that'd be too much too soon." He paused a moment before adding, "That's why we're not changing your routine that much right now. You'll get your next pill in an hour and a half... and the next one an hour and a half after that. It's just this dose that's changing. That's all. And we won't change anything else, not for a week or so at least. That should give your system time to adjust."

 

It sounded perfectly reasonable. It really, really did.

 

And House still found the idea terrifying -- because it meant that, although this particular change was very slight, almost insignificant... eventually, he would find his daily Vicodin allowance much more substantially reduced.

 

 _Wilson_ _doesn't understand... He doesn't know how much I need it... how bad it hurts when I don't have it... He won't believe me, he'll say I just_ think _I need it, just think it hurts because I want the pills, but I need them, I_ need _them..._

 

With an effort, House fought back his rising panic, covering it with a brave, forced half-smile, and a nod of resignation. His voice was just hesitant and uncertain enough, as he replied after a long, tense moment.

 

"O-okay. That... that makes sense," he agreed in a quiet, reluctant tone. "Whatever you think is best."

 

He inwardly cringed, wondering if he'd gone too far with those last few words, so completely unusual and almost comical coming from his lips -- but Wilson didn't seem to notice anything amiss. House suppressed a pang of guilt at Wilson's warm, grateful smile, as Wilson gave him an almost coy shrug.

 

"If you'd like, I could think of a few ways to... distract you, for the next fifteen minutes or so..."

 

House forced his concerns to the back of his mind, returning Wilson's fervent, impulsive kiss, trying to focus on the sensation of his touch as Wilson pushed him slowly, cautiously backward and then down onto the sofa. House shut out his swirling thoughts, the plans already taking place in his mind, and deliberately lost himself in the moment -- aware that Wilson would pick up on his distraction in a moment if he allowed himself to think about it.

 

Fifteen minutes later, House forced himself to hold his gaze when at last the younger man drew back, reaching into his pocket and taking out the vial of Vicodin.

 

"You're doing so well at this, House," Wilson told him in a soft, reassuring voice as he took out a pill and pressed it into House's hand. "Thank you. For... trusting me on this. I promise you, you're not going to regret it."

 

House just nodded, tucking his head self-consciously, before gently extracting himself from Wilson's embrace and rising to his feet. He waited until he was outside Wilson's office before taking the pill. He paused for a moment in the hallway, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep, shaky breath, before making his way with firm, purposeful strides toward the elevator and down to the lobby.

 

**************************

 

It was a simple matter to make his way across town to another hospital, and just as simple a matter to gauge the timing and staff of that hospital’s clinic so that he ended up with one of the younger, less experienced doctors working that afternoon. Within minutes of carefully innocent conversation, House had managed to procure a legitimate Vicodin prescription from the young doctor, and to get it filled at the hospital’s pharmacy.

 

 _It’s only for emergencies,_ he told himself as he tucked the prescription bottle into the fake book he kept on the bookshelf in his office, then carefully replaced the book, glancing anxiously over his shoulder to be sure he had not been observed. _Only if I really need it, later on – once Wilson decides to move past the little, harmless changes and onto the bigger ones. I’ll only take them if I absolutely have to._

He left the pill bottle unopened in his secret hiding place, then checked his watch.

 

Time to go to Wilson for his next dose.

 

 _Everything’s going to be fine,_ he reassured himself as he made his way down the hall toward Wilson’s office. _Wilson_ _will never have to know..._


	16. Repercussions

A couple of days passed in relative peace, and House was pleasantly surprised to find that he didn’t need any of the extra pills he had obtained, which remained safely tucked away in his secret hiding place, untouched. The slight change Wilson had made in his daily medication regimen proved to be thankfully not enough to make any difference in the way he felt each day; and for House, just the knowledge that he _had_ the extra Vicodin if he needed it was enough to keep his feelings of panicked vulnerability at bay.

 

He was just starting to wonder if he had been worried for nothing – when _nothing_ abruptly became _something_.

 

Wilson had a patient on the verge of death – which was nothing new, House was quick to point out to him. However, this patient was not expected to make it through the evening; and she was a patient Wilson had spent a lot of time with, enough time to develop a certain personal bond. House was irritated, but not surprised, when Wilson decided to stay late, to look after the patient and make sure she was comfortable and well taken care of until she passed.

 

House caught a cab home, where he spent a couple of hours watching television in peaceful solitude, until Wilson arrived home.

 

It was also not surprising to House that Wilson did not say much as he made his way through the living room, a grim expression on his face, mumbling something about a long day and a headache as he retreated to the bedroom. Concerned, House rose and followed him, lying down on the bed beside him and asking about his patient with uncharacteristic gentleness.

 

Wilson merely turned his back, eyes closed, thumbs pressed against his temples.

 

“Headache,” he repeated a bit irritably. “Just… give me some space, okay? I’ll be fine, but I don’t want to talk about it.” He paused, his voice softening as House rose from the bed without a word and made his way toward the bedroom door. “Could you… just turn out the light, when you go?”

 

House complied without answering, a bit put out by Wilson’s rejection, but understanding and accepting his explanation for it.

 

In the morning, however, House awakened to find that Wilson’s headache had apparently vanished at some point during the night, as he had risen early and already left for work, leaving House a brief note telling him to ride his bike today, as Wilson needed to get an early start at the hospital. House accepted that, knowing that such behavior was not unusual for Wilson – until he noticed something else that _was_ more than a little unusual, and frowned, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

 

Wilson had neglected to leave his morning Vicodin dosage on the nightstand, as was his usual habit.

 

Unsettled and uncertain as to what was wrong, only sure that something was indeed amiss, House hurriedly prepared for his day and made his way to the hospital at a speed which would surely have cost him a heavy ticket, had he happened to pass any police officers on his way.

 

Fortunately, he didn’t.

 

By the time he reached Wilson’s office, House’s discomfort was bordering on pain, and his stomach was sick from the worrisome thoughts circling through his mind. He was relieved to find Wilson at his desk, engaged in his usual work, with a calm, completely ordinary expression on his face. When House entered, Wilson looked up at him with a bright – if vaguely cool – smile.

 

“Morning,” he greeted him cheerfully, looking immediately back down at his work.

 

House was not fooled for a moment.

 

“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you wake me this morning?”

 

Wilson frowned, feigning puzzlement – but not feigning it well. He casually shrugged off the question, replying without hesitation, though not quite making eye contact as he spoke. “I just thought I’d let you sleep in for a change, that’s all.”

 

Swallowing hard, reluctant to bring it up because of the vulnerability it made him feel, House’s voice was quiet when he finally spoke again.

 

“You forgot something this morning.”

 

Finally, a dark light of challenge and warning in his eyes, Wilson met House’s gaze, suppressed anger in his own. “No, I really didn’t,” he stated with a cool determination that set a chill of apprehension in House’s stomach. He smiled up at him, calmly gauging his reaction as he went on, “I’ve decided it’s a good time to… test your endurance. To see just how long you can go without the pills before you really need one. One pill every hour and a half, House…” Wilson shook his head with a grim smile of disapproval, returning his eyes to his work as he concluded, “… that’s really ridiculously excessive. You know that.”

 

Unable to disguise a slight tremor in his voice, House protested with false calm. “You know that’s a terrible idea. And… it’s not what we agreed upon…”

 

“What we _agreed_ upon,” Wilson cut him off sharply, looking up to meet his eyes again, “is whatever _I_ decide is best.” He was quiet for a moment, his mouth twisting into a cold, ironic smile as he asked softly, “Don’t you trust me, House?”

 

Immediate understanding dawned on House, and he turned without a word, stalking out of Wilson’s office and making his way down the hall to his own. Not bothering with secrecy – certain that his secret had already been found out – House withdrew the secret book from the shelf with trembling hands. When he opened it, his breath caught in his throat, and his mouth went dry, though what he found was not exactly a surprise.

 

The book was empty.

 

He was aware of Wilson’s presence, close behind him, the moment before his friend spoke in a low, quiet voice that trembled slightly with repressed fury.

 

“Yes, I found your secret stash, House. Yes, I took them. And I can’t believe that you would deceive me like this – after all we’ve gone through already.” Wilson’s voice lowered further, a dark accusation in his tone as he added, “ _Liar_. How am _I_ supposed to trust _you_ now, House? How am I supposed to…?”

 

House spun around abruptly to face him, trembling, shaken, defensive, allowing the book to drop onto his desk as he took a backward step against the shelves behind him, realizing with an uneasy sensation of claustrophobia that he was trapped, his only route of escape blocked by Wilson.

 

Ordinarily, that would not have been a frightening thought – but Wilson looked _furious._ His dark eyes blazed with outraged betrayal, his hands balled into fists at his sides, not caring for a moment that he was completely in House’s personal space, intimidatingly close.

 

Defiant nevertheless, House demanded in a voice that shook with defensive anger, “Give me my pills! They’re _mine_ , Wilson! You can’t do this; I _need_ them…”

 

Wilson’s abrupt step forward caused House to stumble a step backward against the bookcase, but Wilson’s rough hand in his hair cupped the back of his head and prevented his escape. House’s breath caught in his throat with alarm as Wilson edged in closer, cold anger in his dark eyes as he spoke in a low, dangerously soft voice that made House’s stomach lurch.

 

“ _Shut. Up_.”

 

His nearly frenzied protests died away as House swallowed hard, eyes closed against the piercing fury in Wilson’s gaze as he shifted yet closer, leaving almost no room between them. The glass walls of House’s office offered little concealment, and House knew that anyone happening by in that moment would have clearly seen the compromising situation in which he had found himself, and the frighteningly dominant manner in which Wilson was behaving.

 

The thought was somehow as exciting as it was unsettling.

 

“You are going to keep control of yourself, House,” Wilson declared in a tone of quiet command. “You are not going to draw attention to yourself and cause something that’s personal and private and between us to become public knowledge. Are you?”

 

His mouth dry, his heart pounding, face flushed with anger and embarrassment and defiance and excitement, House’s hand clenched around the handle of his cane for a long, tense moment – and then relaxed, as he shook his head hurriedly in response to Wilson’s challenge, lowering his head as Wilson released his hair and removed his hand.

 

Some of the anger in Wilson’s voice faded with House’s submission, and he continued in a voice that was softer, but still stern. “Give me ten minutes. Then, come to my office, and we’ll discuss this.”

 

Wilson didn’t wait for an agreement before turning and stalking out the door. House’s obedience was assumed, given their current arrangement.

 

House really wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

 

Torn between outrage at Wilson’s calm, confident commands, and a strange sense of excitement and arousal at the possessive control Wilson had displayed, House just stood there for a little while, allowing his breath to return to him, and his heart rate to slow to something resembling normal, as he considered his options – and quickly came to the conclusion that he had none.

 

Wilson had his Vicodin – all of it – and he had already gone all night and half the morning without it. If he expected to get a dose anytime before his leg started screaming at him in agony for the forced neglect he was imposing upon it, House had no choice but to do as Wilson had commanded.

 

Fighting back a trapped sensation of panic, House waited the interminable ten minutes Wilson had requested, pacing back and forth across his empty office, glancing at the clock on his desk every few seconds and willing the time to pass more quickly. Ten minutes had never crawled so slowly as these ten minutes, as House waited in mounting curiosity and desperation until he could make his way to Wilson’s office, and make his case for receiving the pills he was, by now, in nearly frantic need of.

 

Finally, a few seconds after the clock told him nine minutes had passed, House turned on his heel and made his way with swift, purposeful steps toward Wilson’s office. He paused outside the door, his hand on the handle… then froze, swallowing hard… torn. He frowned as he raised his hand from the handle in a slow, halting motion, then instead used his cane to rap sharply on the door.

 

Wilson’s voice answered from inside without hesitation.

 

“Come in.”

 

House opened the door with far greater hesitation than usual, biting his lower lip uncertainly as he stepped into the dimly lit office. Wilson was standing beside his desk, facing it, a thoughtful frown on his lips. He was slowly running his finger idly back and forth around the top of his lamp, casting strange moving shadows in a rhythmic circular pattern on the wall.

 

“Close the door,” he ordered softly. “And lock it.”

 

House stared at Wilson for a long moment, looking away at last to turn and obey the quiet command. He turned again to take a tentative step nearer to Wilson, frowning as he studied the younger man’s inscrutable expression. Wilson still wasn’t looking at him, his pensive gaze locked on the desk in front of him, and House found himself following Wilson’s eyes to their focus.

 

Instantly, House’s stomach dropped, and his mouth went dry.

 

Wilson’s desk had been cleared of the usual supplies he kept there, files and calendars and pens arranged in neat stacks on the floor beside the desk instead, leaving it bare except for the lamp – and the strange assortment of unsettling implements laid out in a neat line beside it.

 

House looked up at Wilson with startled, apprehensive eyes, swallowing hard and trying to maintain his composure. Attempting to ignore the disturbing sight he had just taken in, House set his jaw in stubborn determination and spoke in a quiet, nearly steady voice.

 

“I need my pills, Wilson.”

 

“You’ll need them more when I’m finished,” Wilson replied without hesitation, and the unyielding certainty in his voice set a strange quivering sensation in House’s stomach.

 

House tensed, steeling himself as Wilson crossed the short distance between them in a couple of smooth strides. Wilson caught his arm in a firm but not painful grip, pulling him forcefully forward until his legs brushed the front of the desk, then moving in close behind him. House felt trapped, claustrophobic, his heart hammering in his chest as Wilson leaned in close to speak softly next to his ear.

 

“You’ve lied to me. You’ve gone behind my back and deceived me in order to break the rules about your Vicodin regimen – which is the most important point of our whole arrangement.” Wilson paused before adding, “Lying to me is among the worst offenses you could commit against our agreement. And you know what that means.”

 

House shook his head slightly in denial, opening his mouth to protest.

 

Wilson shook him slightly, pressing him forward against the desk and causing him to bite back his words, closing his eyes momentarily with a sharp, shaky intake of breath. House opened his eyes, staring down with dread at the various implements of punishment laid out before him, awaiting his own decision, as per their contract. A grim smile on his lips that House heard and felt rather than saw, Wilson decreed his sentence with a note of finality that let House know it was useless to argue his defense.

 

“Go ahead,” Wilson commanded quietly. “Choose."


	17. Choice

House could barely speak as he stared down at the none-too-pleasant options Wilson had arrayed for him, vaguely aware that Wilson had moved from behind him to slide his desk chair around the desk and position it behind the place where House stood. His stomach felt queasy, and his mouth was almost too dry to move enough to form words. When he finally managed to voice a cautious, halting objection, his voice was a hoarse, barely audible whisper.

 

“Wilson… you can’t actually be serious. This is… this is ridiculous…”

 

His protest was cut off in a startled yelp, as Wilson placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and yanked him abruptly and forcefully down into the chair – placing him at a distinct physical disadvantage to Wilson, still standing and thus, for the moment, towering over him.

 

“Stop stalling and choose, House.” Wilson’s voice carried a distinctly warning edge.

 

“Wilson, I didn’t even…”

 

House gasped as Wilson grasped his hair sharply, jerking his head back, and closed his eyes, swallowing hard as Wilson leaned over him, resting a hand on his left thigh as he spoke quietly close to his ear – subtle warning shifting instantly to steely authority.

 

“This is not a joke or a game, House. You’re not going to talk me out of this. We made an agreement, and you are going to honor it.” He paused, edging nearer, tightening his grip on House’s hair as he lowered his voice and continued. “Is that clear?”

 

House’s heart was pounding in his throat, his hands clenched around the base of the chair in a desperate attempt to prevent himself from following his instincts to resist. He drew in a deep, shaking breath, every muscle in his body taut with the preparation to either resist, or flee.

 

Wilson slowly released his grip on House’s hair, withdrawing to stand over him again, waiting until House looked up at him in questioning trepidation to speak with soft, matter-of-fact clarity.

 

“Unless… you just want to get up and walk out. That’s an option, too.”

 

Strangely, that option was more frightening and unsettling to House than the prospect of the punishment Wilson was about to administer. He considered rising to his feet and shoving Wilson away from him, insisting on the autonomy and respect he knew he deserved – or simply getting up and walking away, refusing to submit to Wilson’s demands.

 

In the end… he did neither.

 

House knew that this was his last resort, one final attempt at regaining control over the disaster his life had become – even if that control was Wilson’s and not his own. The conflict with Tritter, his near-death by overdose, the brief time he had spent in rehab, and nearly going to prison – all only served to prove that his own choices were not necessarily the ones that were best for him. At that moment, House was only sure of one thing in the confusion his life had become.

 

Wilson.

 

And he _could not_ lose him.

 

“No,” House whispered at last, eyes lowered in defeat. “No, I… I don’t want to… to go…”

 

Wilson nodded in satisfaction, his hand returning to the back of House’s head, this time in a gentle, affectionate touch. “Good. Now, choose.”

 

Desperate to avoid the punishment Wilson was forcing upon him, House tried again. “Wilson… please just listen. I didn’t…”

 

“House.” Wilson cut him off again, stern warning in his voice. “That’s it. You’re not going to talk your way out of this with some lame excuse. You will not speak again unless I give you permission to do so. Just… keep your mouth shut, and _make your choice_.”

 

House stared down at the items on Wilson’s desk, a rising sensation of nausea swelling up from his stomach to lodge in his throat. The whole thing seemed so surreal, as if it was just some insane dream from which he would awaken at any moment, to find that everything was back to normal, and Wilson was back to his old, comfortably enabling self.

 

Unfortunately, the array of weapons laid out on Wilson’s desk was unsettlingly real.

 

None of his options seemed to be good.

 

House jumped, startled, when Wilson’s hand came to rest heavily on his shoulder, sliding around in a sideways embrace that was strangely comforting, considering the fact that Wilson was the one forcing him into this predicament. Wilson’s voice was gentle, yet firm and warning, as he spoke softly from where he stood at House’s side.

 

“If you don’t choose,” he explained patiently, “your right to choose will be forfeit, and I’ll choose for you.”

 

House nodded slowly, swallowing hard as he reached out a trembling, dutiful hand toward the items arranged on the desk.

 

The first was one of Wilson’s belts, House suspected the very same one which he had embarrassed himself by freaking out over a few weeks earlier. His hand slid over the smooth, brown leather with only a cursory perusal, not really even considering it, as he moved on immediately to the next item.

 

It was a thin metal ruler, flexible but sturdy in his hand. House ran his fingertips along it’s edge, finding it frighteningly sharp. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back a fresh wave of sickness at the unpleasant memories it provoked, as he set it back down on the desk, barely managing to suppress a visible shudder.

 

The next item in the row was a broad, flat wooden paddle, the kind that had once been a child’s toy, attached to a tiny ball on the end of an elastic string. He had received many such toys during his childhood, always with the understanding that, when it inevitably broke, it would become the property of his father, instead. House bit his lower lip, his brow creased with a pensive frown, before setting the paddle down again.

 

House’s eyes widened as he picked up the next option, a rather intimidating riding crop made of stiff, rough leather. He tested its weight in his hand, sucking in a slow, whistling breath as he realized that this was no toy made for make believe and found in your typical sex shop. No, this was the genuine article, intended to inflict actual pain. He winced slightly as he considered the damage such a weapon could do, in the right hands.

 

However, unlike the other items, House could only _imagine_ the effect the crop might have – and that made his decision much easier.

 

His expression was solemn, eyes wide and apprehensive, as he silently raised the crop in his hand, holding it out to Wilson. Wilson frowned, surprised and troubled by House’s decision. His head tilted slightly in confusion, he looked thoughtfully back and forth between the crop in his hands, and his quiet, subdued lover, sitting there in front of him, eyes downcast and focused on his hands in his lap. Wilson’s voice was quiet, speculative, as he asked a soft, simple question.

 

“Why?”

 

House shrugged, anxiously licking his lips, avoiding eye contact. “It’s as good an option as any, isn’t it?”

 

“It’s a… slightly more _severe_ option than any of the others,” Wilson pointed out, cautious concern in his voice. “House… are you sure?”

 

House nodded, still not looking at him, a slow swallow visible in his throat. Wilson’s frown deepened as he glanced down at the crop again, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. He found that his hands were trembling slightly, and a queasy sensation was beginning in the pit of his stomach.

 

He _really_ did not want to do this.

 

 _Why would he_ want _me to use the most painful, damaging option I gave him? Why would he choose to let me hurt him as much as possible? It doesn't make sense. If the belt was enough to freak him out the other night... how can he be even remotely okay with..._

 

Wilson's thoughts trailed off as something seemed to come together in his head. Unwillingly, his mind was drawn back to the night when he had first attempted to use physical discipline on House, only to fold like a Spanish fan when faced with House's reaction of dread bordering on sheer terror.

 

The sick sensation in Wilson's stomach intensified as he considered the other choices he had laid out for House, as well as the troubling conclusions he had reached on that fateful night -- and suddenly, the pieces came together in his mind.

 

 _A paddle... a belt... a ruler... all things that scare House more than this riding crop... maybe because... they're... all things that have been used on him_ before _..._

 

"House... tell me why you chose this," he repeated, his voice carrying a stern note of command.

 

House remained stubbornly silent, his eyes downcast, his jaw clenched in clear refusal.

 

"Stand up."

 

Wilson gave the order in a soft, quiet voice, wincing inwardly when House flinched almost imperceptibly, visibly steeling himself as he gripped the desk and pulled himself painfully to his feet. It was clear from the flash of fear in his eyes, the hesitation in his every movement, that House assumed the moment of his punishment had come.

 

Wilson placed a firm but gentle hand under House's elbow, guiding him slowly toward the sofa against the wall and motioning for him to sit down. Once House had obeyed and was looking up at him in apprehensive anticipation, Wilson sat down slowly beside him, setting the riding crop down on the floor at his feet -- deliberately placing it out of play for the moment. His words were thoughtful and deliberate as he met House's eyes with tenderness and concern.

 

"I think we need to talk."

 

House was silent, staring down at his knees, his hands folded in his lap in an uncharacteristic gesture of acceptance and submission. It was unsettling to Wilson how easily House seemed to slip into this unusually obedient mode -- and only served to further confirm the disturbing suspicions forming in his mind.

 

Wilson's voice was gentle but confident when he finally drew in a deep breath, and plunged into the difficult conversation he knew they needed to have.

 

"You chose the crop because... you already _know_ what the other choices feel like. Don't you?"

 

"Yes," House answered with a decisiveness that Wilson knew to herald House's own brand of not-so-subtle sarcasm. "For no other reason than to satisfy my curiosity. My regular hookers are highly adventurous, but they always stop just short of hard leather objects that can actually draw blood and cause permanent scarring. Just wanted to find out what I was missing."

 

"House... I wouldn’t ever hurt you that badly. And… this isn't... sexual, for me. You need to know that." Wilson's voice was quiet and thoughtful when he added slowly a few moments later, "And... neither was what I'm talking about. Was it?" When House was silent, refusing to confirm or deny Wilson's assumptions, he added softly, "We're talking about long before you were hiring hookers." He frowned, reconsidering momentarily. "I hope."

 

House was silent for a long moment before casually shrugging his shoulders, looking away as he replied, "Draw your own conclusions. Strangely, I don't want to tell my deepest, darkest secrets to the person who's seen fit to leave me in pain for..." He glanced at his watch, raising his eyebrows with a quiet huff of outrage before looking up at Wilson to conclude, "... yes, it's officially _hours_ now. And who knows how much longer you'll feel like getting off on watching me suffer? No, sorry if I don't feel like sharing at the moment."

 

"Damn it, House," Wilson muttered in irritation born of guilt. He was frustrated and confused and utterly unsure what course of action to take at this point. He didn't want to go through with the punishment anymore, but he was afraid that letting House get away with his deception would only ruin what progress they had already made. "You think I _like_ seeing you in pain?"

 

House pretended to consider the question before nodding slowly and replying, "Yeah, at the moment, that seems a safe assumption."

 

Wilson let out a quiet sigh, not speaking for a moment. Finally, he spoke just two simple words, filled with hurt and regret and resignation.

 

"House... _why_?"

 

House shrugged again, and for a moment Wilson thought he wasn't going to bother answering; but then, House spoke in a halting, subdued voice, tinged with an unusual vulnerability -- presumably due to the revelation of his childhood abuse.

 

"I just... wanted to be sure I... had them if I needed them. I... I didn't even take any."

 

"You didn't?" Wilson was incredulous, one eyebrow raised in dubious question.

 

"Count them," House suggested. "They're all there. It was just... just a... security thing. Just in case."

 

"That's... good to know," Wilson replied with cautious relief, nodding slowly. "That means something, House. It really does." His expression softened, dark eyes solemn and regretful as he added, "But... you shouldn't have gotten the pills at all. My methods would work, if you'd give me half a chance. You should have _trusted_ me."

 

"How am I supposed to trust you," House protested, frustration in his voice, "if you're just going to withhold my pills the first chance you get, just because you're angry over something I did? That doesn't exactly work in favor of your trustworthiness, Wilson."

 

"I had no intention of keeping your Vicodin from you for any longer than it took you to get to work this morning," Wilson assured him with a heavy sigh, looking away in chagrin. "I only said what I did about making you wait to call your bluff -- to get you to admit what you did. I would never use your Vicodin against you as a punishment, or... or out of anger. The only reason I'd withhold your pills for any length of time is as a part of the plan you've already agreed to."

 

House was silent for a long moment, weighing the sincerity of Wilson's words. Finally, he replied, his voice quiet and uncertain.

 

"I'm not sure I want you to have the power to withhold them at all. Let me rephrase that," he immediately amended, looking up to meet Wilson's solemn gaze. "I'm _absolutely_ sure that I _don't_ want you to have that power."

 

"Well... I understand that, but..." Wilson sighed, his tone gentle but matter-of-fact as he reminded House, "... you've already given me that power. You agreed to this. If you want to change your mind, you can do that, but..."

 

"But if I do, you'll walk out of my life and not come back," House concluded for him, a note of bitterness in his voice. "Funny, how this works out so nicely for _you_. Leaves all the good cards in your hand."

 

Wilson was silent, neither arguing with House's assessment nor apologizing for its accuracy.

 

At last, House averted his gaze, swallowing hard. The resignation in his eyes, his slight wince as he opened his mouth to continue, made it clear that he was defeated. They both knew that Wilson had all the real power in this situation -- but they also knew that it didn't matter.

 

House was not able to fathom the idea of losing Wilson -- and he would do whatever he had to do to keep that from happening.

 

"I... I'm sorry," he murmured after a long, tense silence.

 

Wilson looked up at him, startled by the unfamiliar words. He felt tears spring to his eyes unbidden, and quickly blinked them back, fighting back the nearly overwhelming sense of guilt he felt, and steeling himself for what he knew he still had to do.

 

"I know," he replied softly. "And... I'm glad. It means a lot to me that you are." He was silent for a moment, before adding firmly, "You still have to be punished."

 

House nodded haltingly, biting the side of his lip as he looked uncertainly up at Wilson, no surprise on his face. "I know."

 

"Are you... sure you want it to be with this?" Wilson gestured down at the crop on the floor, frowning, hoping desperately that House would change his mind.

 

"Yeah," House confirmed with another nod. "That's my choice."

 

"O-okay," Wilson agreed with clear reluctance as he rose to his feet. "That's it, then. Let's get this over with."


	18. Pain

Wilson stood looking down at House in silent expectation, waiting for House to obey his command to stand in preparation for his punishment.

 

House just sat there, staring up at him in wide-eyed apprehension -- making no move to stand.

 

"I'm... not sure this is a good idea right now," he objected after a moment, his voice small and subdued, with just the slightest hint of a tremor. "We still have the whole work day ahead of us. If I'm in... _too_ much pain, I... I won't be able to do my job..."

 

"Oh, yeah," Wilson retorted with mild sarcasm, a single dubious brow raised. "All that sitting and thinking... so much harder after..." His voice trailed off, his expression shifting into a thoughtful frown, as he realized the unintentional truth of his words. "Actually... I guess it... might be." He shook his head, squaring his shoulders as he glared down at House again, struggling to harden his demeanor against the rising panic he saw in House's wide, vaguely pleading eyes. "But punishment isn't supposed to be easy, House..."

 

"Someone might notice."

 

There was just the subtlest suggestion of warning in House's too-innocent voice, and Wilson's lips tightened into an angry line as he took an intimidating step closer to where House sat on the sofa.

 

"Is that a threat?"

 

As he spoke, he tapped the crop into his palm impatiently, feeling a twinge of guilt when House flinched slightly, swallowing hard, his breath quickening with alarm. He shook his head emphatically, closing his eyes for a moment before looking up to meet Wilson's challenging gaze.

 

"No," he answered softly. "No, it's... not a threat. Just... I'm just saying... I might not be able to... to hide it... all day... if I'm in... too much pain."

 

Wilson's brow creased in a pained expression of sorrow and regret that he swiftly wiped from his face, trying to maintain a hard, resolute demeanor. Despite his efforts to remain firm, however, he found himself wondering about the wisdom of his own methods, and whether or not he might be doing more damage than good.

 

 _Just how much pain does he expect me to put him in?_

 

"You're not going to be able to put this off forever, House," he stated, his own voice trembling slightly in his confusion and frustration.

 

"I know." House nodded, his eyes downcast in an unusual expression of subservience and respect. "It's just... if we could just... wait. Until... until we get home..."

 

Wilson was silent for a long moment, caught in his own mental war between merciful reason, and a stubborn desire not to yield. Finally, his shoulders slumped slightly as he relented with a heavy sigh.

 

"Fine, then. Until we get home." He paused, waiting until House met his eyes in a grateful, relieved nod before continuing, "But _only_ until then. This _will_ be dealt with before we go to bed tonight. Is that clear?"

 

House nodded again, a nervous, convulsive swallow in his throat, but did not voice the fears that were so clearly visible in his expressive eyes. As he placed two Vicodin in House's palm and watched him make his way out of Wilson's office and toward his own, Wilson felt a tight knot of dread beginning to form in his chest. He knew that, as much as he was not looking forward to what he would have to do that night, that unpleasant knot would not be going anywhere until he had finished the unpleasant task that lay ahead of him.

 

Evening could not come soon enough.

 

******************************

 

At the end of the day, Wilson found himself lingering in his office. Every time he was about to leave, some little thing he'd left undone managed to catch his attention -- until finally, he had to admit to himself that he was subconsciously searching for excuses not to go home.

 

When he passed House's office on the way toward the exit, he was unsurprised to see that House had already left for the day.

 

Guilt and confusion and uncertainty consumed Wilson's muddled thoughts as he made the short drive home -- which seemed even shorter than usual on this particular night. He stopped outside the door to the apartment, drawing in a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to steady himself before walking inside.

 

House was seated on the sofa, watching television. When Wilson entered, he did not look up, did not give any indication to even acknowledge Wilson's arrival -- but a slight wince and a slow swallow in his throat betrayed his rising apprehension.

 

"Hey," Wilson said by way of nervous greeting.

 

"Hey," House echoed, apparently very interested in the sitcom on the television.

 

Wilson almost laughed aloud at the absurd normality of the exchange. There was nothing normal about what was about to happen in the next few minutes.

 

And it _had_ to be the next few minutes -- because Wilson was afraid that if he didn't do this quickly, he would give in and not do it at all.

 

"Stand up," Wilson ordered softly as he took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack, setting his briefcase down on the coffee table.

 

House reluctantly obeyed as Wilson opened his briefcase and took out the crop he had chosen earlier that day. His every motion was slow, filled with clear dread, as he braced his trembling hand against his cane and slowly stood, eyes downcast, shoulders taut with nervous tension.

 

Wilson closed his briefcase and stood up straight again, holding the crop between his hands as he met House's eyes with a firm resolution.

 

"Take off your shirt."

 

House looked surprised at that, raising his eyebrows skeptically. "What, you've decided against a proper spanking?" he observed. "Decided I deserve a little worse than that?"

 

Irritated by House's assessment of his motives, which was painfully inaccurate, Wilson snapped, "Actually, I was thinking that making you take your pants off and spanking you like a child is a little more demeaning than I want to be to you." His voice softened, his expression pained as he added, "Also... I don't want to take a chance of... of hitting your leg."

 

A brief flash of some indiscernible emotion crossed House's face, but he quickly squashed it back, his jaw set in stubborn defiance as he retorted with scathing sarcasm.

 

"Yeah. You've made it totally obvious how very concerned you are with my personal dignity."

 

" _House_." Wilson's voice was sharp, warning in his anger and frustration. "This is hard enough as it is. Would you stop with your smart ass comments and just do as you're told?"

 

The instant the words were out of his mouth, Wilson inwardly cringed, aware that his tone and choice of words only served to support House's accusations. He steeled himself, prepared to hear House voice just that observation, and most likely in the most harsh and insulting manner possible.

 

What he was not prepared for was House's slight flinch, his reluctant but quietly submissive answer.

 

"O-okay."

 

Wilson felt a hot, sick rush of guilt fill his stomach as he realized that House had probably heard almost exactly that same order before, a very long time ago. He sighed wearily, raising a hand to run through his hair in repressed agitation, as he tried to rein in his own confused emotions enough to give House the reassurance he needed.

 

"House," he said softly, with renewed patience, "you're wrong about this, okay? I'm doing this because I care about you. I don't want to hurt you. I just want you to know that you can't do this again. Do you understand that?"

 

House's eyes were downcast, refusing to look at Wilson, but he nodded once, slowly.

 

"If this is going to work... you're going to have to trust me. Okay?"

 

Another terse, silent nod.

 

"You can't be going behind my back, attempting to deceive me and subvert my every effort to..."

 

"Can we just get on with this?" House snapped impatiently -- but his voice trembled slightly, betraying the apprehension that was the real source of his upset.

 

Wilson was quiet for a moment, studying House's expression, before nodding slowly. "All right, then," he agreed quietly. "I want you to stand in the kitchen doorway and hold onto the door jamb."

 

House obeyed with short, halting movements, visibly trembling, his hands white-knuckled as he slowly, awkwardly gripped the edge of the doorway. Wilson followed him with measured, patient steps, stopping when he stood a few feet behind House.

 

"I'm sorry, House," he said softly, his voice thick with his own threatening tears. "I... didn't want this to have to happen."

 

Wilson’s hands were trembling, and his brow broke out in a cold sweat as he tested the weight of the crop in his hand, giving it a brief, experimental swing, gauging the amount of force he should use. Finally, he steadied himself, blocking out his thoughts and feelings of guilt and uncertainty, telling himself that he had to just _do_ this – or he wouldn't do it at all.

 

The first stroke fell with a thick, sharp, slashing sound, and House's back arched away from the painful sting of the swift, red welt that formed in its wake. Wilson bit his lip so hard that he tasted his own blood, his vision blurred with tears as he drew back the crop and struck the second blow.

 

House bit back a cry of pain, his hands jerking against the doorjamb as his shoulders began to shake slightly. He was struggling to maintain his composure, unwilling to allow Wilson to see how much it hurt.

 

With the third blow, however, his resolve was nearly undone. The muffled, strangled cry died in his throat, but it was audible enough to tear at Wilson’s heart, filling it with a sharp ache of regret and sorrow for what he was doing to his friend and lover.

 

By the time the fifth and final blow fell, House was leaning heavily against the doorway, shaking hands clinging to the door jamb, his back criss-crossed with the livid red stripes from the sturdy riding crop. Wilson immediately dropped the weapon to the floor, moving swiftly to House's side and wrapping a gentle, steadying arm around his waist.

 

"Shhh," he murmured. "It's all right. It's finished, now..." House glanced up at Wilson uncertainly -- then did a sort of surprised double take before looking abruptly down again.

 

It was only then that Wilson realized that his own face was streaked with tears.

 

House was trembling violently, choking back a sob of pain, but unresisting as Wilson led him slowly and cautiously to the sofa. He helped House to sit down, taking a seat beside him as he did so, running a soothing hand through his hair.

 

"It's okay. You're gonna be fine," Wilson gently assured him, guiding him into position with his elbows braced on his knees, leaning forward to prevent any painful contact of his back against the leather of the sofa behind him. "I'm gonna take care of you. You're gonna be just fine..."

 

Wilson made a hasty escape to the bathroom, taking a moment to catch his breath and try to regain his composure in the quiet privacy of the room. He had never felt so guilty, so disgusted with himself, in his life.

 

He hastily swiped at his tears, blinking away their remnants as he reminded himself that House needed him. He couldn't focus on his own self-pity right now.

 

 _No… time to deal with the damage you've done._

 

Wilson took his time, his hands gentle and tender as they moved with careful precision over the wounds he had inflicted on House's body, treating them with antiseptic cream and covering them with soft bandages.

 

House was quiet, withdrawn and subdued. He was still shaking slightly, and refused to make eye contact with Wilson, seemingly utterly at a loss as to how to respond to Wilson's affectionate concern, in sharp contrast with the authoritative violence of his previous actions.

 

When Wilson was finished, he set the first aid supplies aside on the coffee table, and turned to face House, reaching out to tentatively take his hand. Wilson's heart lurched when House's hand tensed under his, but he persisted, reaching out an arm to wrap around House's shoulders, pulling him gently but insistently closer to him.

 

"I'm so sorry this happened, House," he whispered.

 

"No, you're not," House muttered, jerking away from Wilson's attempted embrace with an immediate wince of pain at the ill-advised movement. "If you were sorry, it _wouldn't_ have happened."

 

Wilson withdrew his hands, his head bowed, silently accepting House's feelings, unwilling to force his affection upon him. He swallowed hard, blinking back fresh tears at the -- albeit understandable -- rejection. He hesitated a moment before reaching into the pocket of his pants and taking out the full vial of pills he had confiscated from House's secret hiding place.

 

"If... if this is going to work," he began in a slow, hesitant voice, holding out the vial and pressing it into House's open palm. "Then... trust... has to be mutual."

 

House looked down at the vial in his hand, then up at Wilson's face in startled confusion, a question in his wide, red-rimmed blue eyes.

 

Wilson met his gaze, his own solemn and unflinching. "I want to... to try to trust _you_ , too, House... in spite of what's happened," he explained. "I'm... giving you these pills to hold. Like you said... just in case. But... but I expect that if you... start to have doubts again... if you think you might need to actually _take_ some of them... you'll... you'll talk to me, first?"

 

House stared down at the vial in his hands, processing what Wilson was saying. After a moment, he nodded slowly.

 

"Whatever the problem is that you're having," Wilson continued, "I want us to talk about it... to see if we can solve it, first, before you resort to taking the extra pills." He paused, carefully weighing his words as he concluded, "I'll trust you not to actually take the pills without discussing it first... if you'll trust that I really, truly care about what's best for you, House -- that I'm doing this for _you_."

 

House just stared down at the prescription bottle, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Wilson's words. Finally, he slowly closed his hand around the bottle with an almost imperceptible nod. Wilson smiled, his shoulders loosening slightly with relief, as he leaned in to press a tender, chaste kiss to House's temple.

 

Without another word, he rose and walked away -- leaving House to spend some time alone with his own thoughts.


	19. Intervention

When House awakened the next morning, he was, not surprisingly, quite sore.

 

He stifled a groan, not wanting to wake Wilson and alert him to the pain in which he had left him -- and confused, wondering at why he would not want to let Wilson know how badly he had hurt him. Ordinarily, House would have taken great satisfaction in the guilt that he knew Wilson would feel for causing him pain -- but somehow, he found himself wanting to protect Wilson rather than to get back at him.

 

That thought alone was irritating to him, and made him want to get back at Wilson all the more. He thought of letting out deliberately louder moans of pain, making Wilson feel as bad as possible for the punishment he had administered -- but he couldn't decide whether or not that was _really_ what he wanted.

 

However, the decision was taken from him as he realized that Wilson had already awakened.

 

A warm, gentle hand trailed cautiously over the bare skin of his back, carefully avoiding the welts left by the riding crop as it made its way up to House's shoulder. The feather-light touch of Wilson's hand was immediately followed by a soft kiss, the caress of warm lips against the sensitive skin where House's shoulder met his throat.

 

"Morning," Wilson murmured, shifting cautiously nearer to House from behind him. There was concern and regret in his voice as he asked anxiously, "Does it hurt?"

 

"No, not a bit," House retorted flatly. "It was only a leather riding crop. It tickled."

 

House felt Wilson's frown against his skin, and was further irritated by the pang of regret he felt for his sharp words.

 

"I'm sorry you're hurting."

 

Wilson's voice was soft and sympathetic, but his choice of words made it perfectly clear that he had no intention of apologizing for the punishment itself, as he braced himself on one hand and rose carefully to a sitting position, doing his best not to cause House any further pain. As Wilson reached into the closet and took out a clean button-down shirt to wear to work, he spoke to House casually over his shoulder.

 

"Maybe you should stay home from work today," he suggested. "Just rest and... feel better. I know you're in pain, so... maybe that's best."

 

House didn't respond -- not sure how he _wanted_ to respond.

 

Wilson's gentleness was both soothing and irritating to House, and he wasn't sure whether to just take advantage of it and enjoy it -- or to use it to play up the guilt Wilson was feeling as much as possible. He just lay there, undecided and unresponsive, as Wilson finished getting ready for work.

 

Once he was done getting ready, Wilson took the first aid supplies from the bathroom and brought them to the bed, where he set about gently treating House's injuries and changing the bandages on his back. When he was finished, he leaned down and tenderly kissed House's cheek, trailing his fingers through House's hair as he sat up straight.

 

"Yeah," he said in a soft but decisive tone. "You should just stay here and rest. I'll tell Cuddy you're not feeling well."

 

"No," House countered, gritting his teeth and bracing himself for the pain as he struggled to sit up. "No, you won't." He shook Wilson's assisting hand off in annoyance, insisting on sitting up without help. "I'm going to work."

 

"You shouldn't," Wilson repeated, frowning in disapproval. "You're in pain."

 

"I'm _always_ in pain."

 

"House... I don't want you to put yourself through this, for no good reason..."

 

"Is that an order?"

 

House's piercing gaze was sharp and challenging as he met Wilson's eyes, waiting for the younger man's response. Wilson stared at him for a long moment, swallowing hard, before finally shaking his head slowly.

 

"No. No, House. You can decide whether or not you can go to work today. But... I'm just saying... I don't think you should."

 

"Okay, then." House nodded decisively, sitting up the rest of the way, suppressing a grimace of pain at the movement. "Noted. I'm going to work."

 

Wilson waited while House took his time getting ready for work, hoping that Wilson would get tired of waiting and just leave. However, by the time he was ready to go, House had decided to let Wilson drive him to work, as his back was already screaming its protest at his mistreatment of it, and he knew that he would never be able to manage the drive himself.

 

Despite the events of the night before, the drive was surprisingly pleasant, filled with the sort of casual conversation in which they usually engaged -- and by the time House reached his office, he was in an unusually good mood. He didn't want to let Wilson see it, but the relief of knowing that things were all right between them again in the wake of his deception was enough to gradually bring down House's defenses, and allow him to enjoy the ride, and the prospect of the day ahead.

 

House's good mood immediately aroused the suspicions of his team, as did his stiff, awkward movements that betrayed his pain -- not that he was trying all that hard to conceal it. As usual, House's curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself torn between his promise to Wilson to keep the nature of their relationship a secret, and his desire to know how his team might react to the knowledge.

 

Cameron frowned with concern when House winced as he took his seat at the conference room table. "What did you do?" she demanded, her tone almost accusing. "You're hurt. What happened?"

 

"You know that thing, where when someone wants to confide in you, they actually _do_?" House responded with an insincere smile. "Do you see that happening, here?"

 

Cameron rolled her eyes, but her frown deepened, and she watched him closely throughout the morning. When House left the room mid-morning to get his next Vicodin dose from Wilson -- though his team had no idea that was where he was going -- Cameron turned to Chase with a suspicious expression on her face.

 

"Something's wrong with him."

 

Chase raised an eyebrow at her, his expression mild and unconcerned. "You're just now noticing this?"

 

"Seriously. Something is going on with him lately -- and I think we should try to find out what it is."

 

************************

 

Wilson looked up and smiled as House entered his office. House closed the door behind him and drew the blinds closed as Wilson rose from his chair and came around the desk to place his hands on House’s waist and draw him cautiously closer.

 

“Hey,” he murmured. “How’re you doing?”

 

House returned his smile, dipping his head down for a kiss before drawing back to respond. “Never better.”

 

Wilson’s smile broadened with pleasure as he drew House yet closer, returning the kiss House had offered – but abruptly drawing back at House’s involuntary wince of pain. Wilson’s smile became a worried frown as his hand shifted cautiously around to House’s back, pressing lightly, experimentally – then pulling away when House let out a hiss and jerked away from the contact.

 

“I don’t know how you’re managing to work today,” Wilson sighed, shaking his head. “You should be resting.”

 

“Hardly adequate punishment if it just means I get to play hooky, is it?”

 

House’s playful smirk was accompanied by a surprising soft, accepting tone – and Wilson found himself suddenly unable to speak, his throat obstructed by a suspicious lump, his eyes burning slightly with unexpected emotion. He cleared his throat, looking away and shaking his head before meeting House’s eyes again.

 

“Do you even have a patient?” he asked.

 

“Had one,” House replied. “Already figured out what was wrong with her. She’s going home within the hour.”

 

“Then you should go ahead and go,” Wilson urged him. “Seriously, House. This is unnecessary…”

 

“Cuddy said I should take advantage of the time and knock out some clinic hours.” House shrugged. “No reason why not.”

 

“No reason, except that you can barely move without hurting,” Wilson reminded him, agitated, running an impatient hand through his hair. “You usually have no problem blowing off clinic. Why today?”

 

House shrugged again, barely disguising a slight flinch of pain at the movement, speaking but not really answering Wilson’s question. “She said to spend the afternoon. I’ve still got a couple of hours. I can rest in my office for a while… maybe go take a hot shower. Might help some.”

 

Wilson nodded with a weary sigh of resignation, accepting that he was not going to be able to convince House to go home. “Okay,” he relented softly. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Just… let me know if you need to go home, okay? I’ll take you. It doesn’t matter what time it is.”

 

House nodded wordlessly as he took a hesitant step toward Wilson, reaching out to take his arm and draw him across the distance he had placed between them.

 

“I _won’t_ need to go home,” he stated with quiet assurance before capturing Wilson’s lips in a brief but intense kiss. “Need my pill, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”

 

Wilson wondered idly if House was simply trying to con him out of more pills as he placed the requested Vicodin – and one extra – in House’s palm and watched him walk away. If he was, Wilson decided, it didn’t matter. His guilt and uncertainty over the events of the previous evening were more than enough to outweigh the concern that House might be playing him for extra pills. He sighed heavily, returning to his desk and sitting down, resting his head in his hands as he struggled to collect his thoughts – which all seemed to come down to one troubling, undeniable truth.

 

 _This_ really _isn’t working out like I thought…_

 _*****************************_

Chase muttered to himself in irritation as he stepped into the shower room, glaring down at his disgusting, urine-stained scrubs, glancing at his somewhat disheveled reflection in the mirror for a moment before beginning his shower.

 

Today was simply not his day.

 

Cameron’s obsession with House was as irritating as ever, reminding him at every possible opportunity that he would never be anything more to her than her not-quite-friend-with-benefits. It was all he could do to keep himself from yelling at her to shut up and leave him alone as she persisted in discussing the possible explanations for House’s only _slightly_ weirder than usual behavior.

 

 _Only she would notice… and only because she wants him… and… not me…_

 

The unfortunate incident that had occurred with the bedpan and the nurse who was cleaning the recently vacated room while he was collecting the patient’s chart had simply been an ironically literal mirror for what Cameron had obliviously done to his emotions that morning.

 

Chase was just about to step into an empty shower stall, when someone else stepped out of the one beside it, clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist.

 

“Oh. Hey,” he greeted House in surprise. “You get piss dumped all over you, too?”

 

“Not today,” House replied lightly.

 

Chase watched idly as House walked past him and bent down with visible difficulty to pick up the stack of folded clothing sitting on the bench outside the showers, next to his cane. Suddenly, Chase’s casual attention became wide-eyed dismay as he noticed the red welts that criss-crossed House’s back. It was only when House straightened and turned to look at him sharply that Chase realized he was still staring. He looked away quickly, stepping into the shower stall – his mind racing with the implications of what he had just seen.

 

**************************

 

Wilson was getting ready to leave his office at the end of the day when he heard a soft, polite knock on the door. He didn’t look up, too distracted by the troubled concerns that had plagued his thoughts all day to really care who it was.

 

“Come in.”

 

Wilson glanced up briefly – then looked up again, surprised to see Chase standing just inside his office door. “Can I help you?”

 

“Um… probably not,” Chase replied with a thoughtful frown, closing the door behind him before turning to face Wilson fully, an appraising look on his face. He was silent for a long moment before speaking with quiet, calm candor.

 

“I saw what you did to House.”

 

Wilson blinked, startled and trapped by the unexpected accusation. “I… I didn’t… I mean…” He cleared his throat, looking away from Chase’s knowing look, aware that he was not convincing the younger man of his innocence at all, but rather confirming his guilt with his own reaction. “What I mean is…” he tried again, looking up and meeting Chase’s eyes with something resembling defiance. “… it’s… frankly… none of your business.”

 

“No,” Chase agreed quietly, crossing the room and sitting down in the chair across from Wilson’s desk, his eyes never leaving Wilson’s. “Not as long as you’re both consenting.”

 

“That’s right.” Wilson nodded, looking away nervously. “And we _are_ both consenting, and this arrangement is for House’s own good, so it’s really just between me and him, and neither of us could possibly care less what anyone else thinks about it, and… and…” Wilson’s voice became gradually more shaky and uncertain under Chase’s perceptive, unrelenting gaze, until it finally trailed off, and he lowered his head into his hands with a heavy sigh. He looked up again, meeting Chase’s eyes with resignation as he admitted, “… and… I don’t have a single freaking _clue_ what I’m doing.”

 

“I know,” Chase replied simply, nodding once. He was quiet for a moment before adding, “Fortunately for you… I _do_. And, if you’ll let me… I’d like to help."


	20. Resolve

Wilson blinked in surprise at Chase's unexpected offer, a puzzled and uncertain frown creasing his brow. After a moment's consideration he finally ventured to ask in a slow, cautious voice.

 

"What, exactly... makes you think that you can help?"

 

With a slightly self-conscious quirk of his mouth, Chase glanced down at his lap for a moment before giving Wilson a rueful smile.

 

"I've... actually got a bit of experience in these matters."

 

Wilson's eyes widened in surprise that gradually shifted into recollection and understanding. "That's right. I remember, House mentioned that before. I don't know why I didn't think of it. You're... into this... this kind of thing..."

 

Chase laughed, shaking his head. "No, not really," he corrected. "I'm really not. I dated a girl once who was, and... well, I learned a bit about it from her... and _for_ her... but, no... turns out I don't really enjoy the whole punishment and domination thing all that much. Just not really my thing. Not for me."

 

Chase was quiet for a moment, his smile fading as he gave Wilson a speculative look. "When did you decide that it... _was_ for you?"

 

Wilson sighed, resting his head in his hands and closing his eyes for a long moment, shaking his head, at a loss. Finally, he ventured an uncertain, hesitant response, his voice halting and tremulous.

 

"I... I'm not really a hundred percent sure that it is," he confessed. "I just... just can't watch House hurt himself anymore. The whole reason I started this thing in the first place was because I couldn't stand to see what he was doing to himself. I was... trying to save him, but... I'm... not sure that's what I'm doing anymore."

 

Wilson was silent, waiting for some kind of a response from the other man -- but Chase was expectantly silent.

 

"I... I just couldn't stand it anymore. I told him that if he didn't let me take over -- start making the hard decisions for him that he couldn't seem to make -- I'd... well, I told him I wouldn't be his friend anymore... as… as _grade school_ as that sounds."

 

He let out a nervous laugh, looking up to meet Chase's eyes -- and surprised at the utter lack of amusement he saw in the younger man's piercing gaze. There was an expression of alarm in Chase's eyes as he aimed a disapproving frown in Wilson's direction.

 

"I thought you said this arrangement was consensual."

 

A sick sensation beginning in the pit of his stomach, Wilson swallowed hard, a defensive frown forming on his lips.

 

"It is," he insisted.

 

"No. No, it's really not," Chase argued quietly, shaking his head. "Not if you actually told him that you'd... you'd _dump_ him as a friend if he didn't go along with it..."

 

"He had a choice," Wilson cut him off defensively. "He didn't _have_ to go along with it, and I don’t _have_ to let him in my life, if it’s doing nothing but making me miserable and enabling him to self-destruct with my implicit approval..."

 

"Are you really this stupid, or does it just make you feel less guilty to pretend that you are?"

 

Wilson blinked, stunned to silence by the bluntly insulting words. Unfazed, Chase continued in an authoritative tone that left no room for argument.

 

"If your friendship -- your being in his life at all -- is what was at stake, then -- then, no. House didn't have a choice. Do you really think that he'd risk losing you, Wilson? You're the only friend he's got. You might have fooled yourself into believing that you had his consent, but you didn't -- not if those were the terms. And if you're honest with yourself, you already know that."

 

Guilt in his dark eyes, Wilson could no longer hold Chase's gaze. His eyes focused on his lap, Wilson swallowed hard, struggling to find the words to explain his actions.

 

"I wasn’t… wasn’t trying to hurt him. I just... I didn't know what else to do..."

 

"I know you want to help him," Chase acknowledged, his voice losing some of its sharp edge, and gaining a note of understanding. "But if this is going to work, then House has to have the option of backing out if he wants to -- if things get to be too much for him, or he gets scared by how much power you have, or… for any reason at all, really. He has to have the right to walk away. Otherwise, you'll end up doing more damage than good."

 

Wilson frowned in confusion, shaking his head in frustrated protest. "But if I leave him the option to back out, then he _will_ \-- the first time things get just a little bit hard, or I ask him to do something he doesn't want to do. If he has the choice to ignore my instructions, he will..."

 

"You might be surprised," Chase pointed out with a knowing smile. "From what I know of dominant-submissive relationships, Wilson -- House's personality makes me believe that he's most likely a natural sub. I think... I think he could benefit greatly from the leadership of a good, conscientious and dedicated dom -- and I think he _wants_ that, even if he tries not to show that side of himself, because… because it makes him vulnerable. I’m not saying the _entire idea_ was a bad one, Wilson. In fact, I think you might be onto something that could be very good for both of you in the long run."

 

A dark glint of worry shone in Chase's eyes as he shook his head, meeting Wilson's gaze and stating firmly, "But as long as he has no options... no choice in the matter... then there's no way this relationship can be what he needs. As long as he doesn't have a choice... then this is basically something you're doing _to_ him against his will, and that means that there's no way he can trust you, Wilson."

 

"Oh, God," Wilson groaned, resting his head in one hand for a moment, his mouth twisted into a grimace of regret and disappointment. "I've ruined it, haven't I? There's no way this can work now." He looked up at Chase, shaking his head in despair as he admitted, "That's been the most difficult part of all of this -- getting House to trust me -- and no wonder he hasn’t been able to. It's all my fault."

 

"Can't argue with you there," Chase remarked, with an unapologetic shrug in response to Wilson's resentful glare. "But... there may be something you can do to fix things. It might not be too late."

 

Wilson's resentful expression faded into a hopeful, almost pleading question, as he waited in silence for Chase to explain.

 

"You might be able to just... back up and start over," Chase suggested cautiously. "But you've got to give the _whole thing_ a complete overhaul. You've got to make it clear from the start that House has the freedom to walk out of it anytime he wants to -- _without_ the threat of losing you."

 

Wilson opened his mouth to protest, the fears that suggestion brought about clear in his eyes before he voiced them.

 

"You're asking him to trust you with _everything_ , Wilson," Chase reminded him sternly. "You're going to have to offer a little trust in return. You're going to have to trust that he _won't_ walk out on you if you give him the chance."

 

Wilson bit his lower lip, visibly struggling with the idea, before finally sighing, his shoulders slumping with resignation, and nodding his acceptance of the truth of Chase's words.

 

"You're going to have to respect his limits... his _dignity_... if this is going to work. There have to be some limits to your power in the arrangement."

 

"There _are_ limits, right now," Wilson hurried to point out, seeming eager to prove that he had not done everything wrong in his arrangement with House thus far. "We have a written contract that we both agreed to beforehand -- signed and everything -- that spells out exactly what's expected of him, and what I'm allowed to do..."

 

Chase nodded slowly in cautious approval. "And... the two of you came up with this contract... _together_?"

 

Wilson's silence was answer enough.

 

"Did you even discuss it before asking him to sign it?"

 

Wilson looked down again in defeat as he admitted, "Not... not really. I mean... we talked about it, but... but I didn't... give him the chance to change the rules, really. I pretty much just asked him to... to accept it, or..."

 

"Or be abandoned by you," Chase finished for him dubiously.

 

Wilson nodded in silent, dejected guilt.

 

"You need to draw up a new contract -- and he needs to come up with his own terms, for you. He needs to put in writing what he expects of _you_ in this relationship, and the two of you need to discuss your limits. Before you assume a position of power in your relationship, you need to know what lines House is _absolutely not okay_ with you crossing." Chase's voice softened with sympathy as he added, "And... I'm sorry, but... right now, I'm fairly certain you wouldn't have a clue as to where most of those lines would be, because right now House is just trying to do whatever he thinks you want, just to keep from losing you."

 

Wilson's expression was sad as he nodded slowly, acknowledging the accuracy of Chase's observation.

 

"I know he's... not happy with... with some things about... how everything has gone so far."

 

"Like the marks I saw on his back in the shower, for instance?" Chase suggested, a single eyebrow raised in dubious accusation as he studied Wilson's face, gauging his reaction.

 

Wilson nodded again in subdued silence.

 

"What did you use?"

 

Wilson's voice was hesitant and halting as he replied with reluctance. "A... a riding crop."

 

Chase sucked in his breath through his teeth, eyes widening in stunned alarm at Wilson's answer.

 

"He chose it," Wilson hurriedly pointed out. "He had several options... several less severe options, by the way... and he _chose_ it. I deliberately let him choose, and that was his choice."

 

"Have you ever used one before?" Chase asked in a thoughtful tone.

 

"No," Wilson sheepishly confessed.

 

"I'm not surprised. You obviously had no idea what you were doing," Chase observed, again with stark, brutal honesty. His tone was severe as he informed Wilson in a tone of cool authority, "You should _never_ leave those kind of marks on House after a punishment -- and you should only use physical punishment at all for certain very extreme circumstances that the two of you have already decided upon in advance."

 

"We did..."

 

"You _both_ did, or _you_ did?" Chase clarified, looking thoroughly unconvinced.

 

Wilson found himself once again without an answer.

 

"Yeah," Chase concluded with a decisive nod. "If this is going to work for the two of you, Wilson -- you're going to have to slow things down. Take a bit of a break right here, and study it out -- be sure that you both know what you're doing before you really get into this. I really think that a legitimate, healthy relationship of this sort might be just the thing to help House -- but if you don't know what you're doing, Wilson... you could really end up doing much more damage than good."

 

"Well... I did a little reading, on the internet..." Wilson ventured, uncertainty in his small, hesitant voice.

 

"No," Chase cut him off, shaking his head with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Can't trust half of what you read there. If you're looking at making a significant lifestyle change that's supposed to be somewhat permanent -- you can't trust it to the internet. You need to speak with a professional."

 

With a rueful, embarrassed laugh, Wilson said, "That's... sort of what I... thought I was doing."

 

Chase returned his own short bark of laughter. "No, that wouldn't be me," he insisted. "I know a bit, but I'm by no means an expert. But... I _do_ know someone, if you'd like me to arrange a meeting for you. I think you should talk to her -- both of you. I think she could really help the two of you get this going in the right direction. She's basically a stranger to you both, so House might feel a bit more comfortable with talking to _her_ than he would with the idea that _I_ know anything about this."

 

"No." Wilson shook his head with a rueful grimace. "No, I don't think he'd like the idea of this conversation we're having right now..."

 

"I won't let on that I know a thing," Chase promised. "But I _will_ put you in touch with my friend. You can tell him you looked her up yourself."

 

Wilson nodded slowly. "Okay," he agreed at last. "Thanks. Get me her information -- but I need to talk to House before I make a final decision." He was quiet for a long moment, before adding softly, "I'm through going over his head on everything. I'm going to do things the right way in this relationship -- starting right now."


	21. Do-Over

“This isn’t working.”

 

House froze at the soft, certain words that fell from Wilson’s lips as he walked through the door of the apartment. His back was to Wilson as he sat at the piano, and the notes that flowed from his fingertips died away as he silently processed the words. A cold sensation of dread filled House’s stomach at the finality in Wilson’s voice.

 

 _It’s over… He’s leaving me…_

 

He swallowed hard, not turning or looking at Wilson as he regained his composure and replied in a soft, even voice.

 

“No shit.”

 

Without waiting for Wilson’s response, he resumed the song he had been playing, his nimble fingers trembling over the keys as he struggled not to reveal his emotions. He was unhappy with the way Wilson had been treating him, nervous and insecure in their relationship – but he didn’t want to _lose_ that relationship. If the only way that he could have Wilson was on Wilson’s terms, he was willing to make that sacrifice, willing to do what it took to please him.

 

But now, it appeared that Wilson was already lost to him.

 

He sensed Wilson’s approach, though he did not acknowledge it, simply kept playing. He suppressed a flinch when he felt a warm, strong hand on his shoulder – not out of fear that Wilson might harm him, but out of an utter revulsion for the tenderness with which he knew Wilson would try to break his decision to him. He already knew that Wilson was finished with him, had decided that he was not worth the trouble; the last thing he needed was Wilson’s gentle hands and tone lying to him while his lips spoke the painful truth.

 

“ _House_ …”

 

House ignored him, his fingers stumbling over the notes as his vision blurred, but stubbornly continuing to play their haunting, melancholy melody until Wilson’s free hand reached out to cover House’s right hand, stilling it. House jerked away from him in defensive anger, but Wilson caught his hand and grasped it, refusing to allow him to escape.

 

“Don’t touch me,” House snarled, struggling as Wilson held onto him, pushing him over a little on the piano bench to sit down beside him. After a moment, however, his resistance faded away and he gave up, his arm going limp, held up only by Wilson’s gentle but firm grasp on his hand. “Just… just _go_ if you’re going to go!”

 

Wilson froze, eyes wide with startled understanding. He shook his head slowly, his hand sliding up House’s arm to draw him closer, his free arm slipping around House’s waist.

 

“No,” he murmured softly. “No, House… I’m not going anywhere. What makes you think I would leave you?”

 

“You said it yourself,” House muttered, sullen eyes averted, unwilling to allow himself to hope, despite Wilson’s reassuring words. “If I didn’t do things your way… if I didn’t let you have control…” His words trailed off and he shook his head in bitter frustration before finally continuing, his voice trembling with repressed emotion. “I did the best I could.”

 

“I know you did,” Wilson insisted, aware too late that the gentle patience in his voice was only serving to further agitate House. “This isn’t your fault, and I’m _not_ leaving you! That’s not what this is about.”

 

House finally looked up at Wilson through dubious eyes, but said nothing, just waited for Wilson’s explanation.

 

“ _I… love_ you, House,” Wilson quietly declared. “I want this to work between us, but… right now, it’s not. And that’s _my_ fault. _I’m_ the one who’s been going about this all wrong.”

 

House’s mouth twisted into a barely there smirk, and he very deliberately stretched, arching his back, then wincing against the pain the motion caused to the lash marks there. He gave Wilson a pointed, accusing look, raising a single brow as he spoke with false surprise.

 

“Really? You think so? Because I thought you were doing a model job so far. Very loving and wise, not the least bit _sadistic_ or _abusive_ …”

 

“That’s not fair,” Wilson snapped, defensive and irritated – but instantly ashamed and regretful when House reacted to his harsh tone with an almost imperceptible but utterly genuine flinch. His tone softened as he continued. “I… never wanted to hurt you. I just… never should have let things get to this point.”

 

Wilson sighed wearily, running a hand down across his face before rolling his eyes heavenward, shaking his head helplessly.

 

“I still think the original idea is a good one,” he quietly insisted. “I think right now… you need someone to… to take over the tough decisions for you… to… to help you…” His voice trailed off for a moment before he stated softly, “We just have to be sure that we’re going about this right, so I don’t end up… doing more damage than good. I think…” He drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly before concluding, “I think we need to talk to a professional.”

 

House’s faint smirk became a full, obvious leer as he replied without hesitation. “I’ve got no problem with that, as long as she’s hot.”

 

“Seriously, House,” Wilson persisted with forced patience. “I want to try this… but I want to do it right.”

 

House was skeptical. “And you’re willing to compromise your precious reputation if word gets back to anyone at the hospital that you saw this particular kind of… _professional_?”

 

“It doesn’t have to be anyone in this area. We can go out of state, make sure there’s no connection,” Wilson suggested. “I can find someone, make some arrangements…”

 

House was quiet for a long moment, considering. Wilson fully expected him to refuse, and was therefore utterly surprised when he spoke in a quiet, even voice without a trace of argument.

 

“It has to be someone at least a hundred miles from here, and we don’t tell her our names.”

 

“Okay,” Wilson replied, somewhat warily.

 

“And I don’t have to agree to do what she says until after we’ve heard what that is.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“And she has to be hot.”

 

“House…” Wilson rolled his eyes. “Seriously…”

 

“ _Wilson_ ,” House mimicked in an exaggeratedly whining voice, “ _seriously_ …”

 

“Okay,” Wilson agreed at last, shaking his head, hands raised in front of him in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, fine. Whatever you say. I’ll… make some calls.”

 

**************************

 

“Here’s where you’ve made your mistake.”

 

Wilson nodded attentively, focused intently on Linda, the attractive woman sitting across from them, waiting eagerly for her response to the story he had just told her. House was focused intently on her bare legs, folded casually in front of her, swinging slightly and allowing him the occasional slight glimpse up the knee-length skirt she was wearing. Linda gave House an appreciative smirk when she noticed his attention, then turned her gaze toward Wilson, her expression becoming serious as she spoke.

 

“What a lot of people misunderstand about the dominant-submissive dynamic is this. The dominant only holds the _illusion_ of power. In reality, the true power belongs to the submissive partner, because he has the right to call a halt to things if at any point he feels uncomfortable or unsafe… or really, for any reason at all. This entire arrangement is all about trust, and if he has no means of escape, then there’s no way that he can really feel secure… really trust you. If he doesn’t have the right to say, ‘Stop, I don’t want this anymore’… then what you’re doing isn’t really a choice, as far as the submissive partner is concerned. It really amounts to… well… rape.”

 

Wilson was silent, his face flushing with shame as Linda echoed words almost identical to the ones Chase had said to him a few days earlier. He couldn’t look at House, but he could sense the tension pouring off the other man as well as he finally looked up to meet Linda’s eyes in a startled, intent expression.

 

“You told me about the contract you two signed, and that wasn’t entirely a bad idea,” Linda continued, her voice calm and nonjudgmental, moving swiftly past their discomfort and on to the solution. “You just have to be sure that the contract is fair.” She paused before stating with quiet certainty, “You need to tear up the original contract and start over.”

 

“Okay,” Wilson conceded in a slow, thoughtful voice. “But… how can we be sure we don’t make the same mistakes in the new contract that we made in the old one?”

 

“Simple.” Linda smiled, her gaze passing between the two men as she replied, “The submissive partner needs to come up with his own terms first. He needs to present you with his conditions for submission to you… what he’s going to need from you in order to be willing to surrender control… and the two of you can only proceed if you are willing to agree to those terms. At that point, you can add your own conditions if you like, but they can only be added to the contract if your submissive partner agrees to them.”

 

Wilson frowned, troubled, and opened his mouth to protest, but Linda went on firmly before he could.

 

“I cannot be any clearer about this: The power has to be in the hands of the submissive partner. There has to be the understanding that, even once you’ve signed this contract, if at any time the submissive partner feels unsafe or trapped or is no longer willing to submit… he has the right to withdraw from the arrangement, without fear of repercussions. His needs have to come first in the relationship.”

 

A satisfied smile spread across House’s face as he took in those words, nodding slowly. He glanced at the clock on the wall behind Linda, noticing that their time was almost up, before turning his gaze toward Wilson. He steadied his grip on his cane as he rose to his feet.

 

“Well,” he remarked with a smirk, “I guess I’d better get started. This might take a while.”

 

With a silent nod in Linda’s direction, House stepped out of her office and into the hallway, making his way toward the exit and the waiting car in the parking lot beyond it. Wilson watched him go for a moment with a troubled expression, before looking toward Linda beseechingly.

 

“I… I know you’re the expert on this, but… I’m not so sure this will work,” he confessed. “He doesn’t like being under someone else’s control. If the door is there for him to walk out of this, sooner or later he _will_ walk out. I want to help him, and I think this is the way, but… I’m not sure he’ll let me if he’s given the option...”

 

“Do you love him?”

 

Wilson blinked, taken aback by the question. “Well… of course, I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t care about him. The whole point of this is to save him from self-destructing…”

 

“That’s not what I asked you.” Linda’s tone was sharp, and silenced Wilson instantly. Her piercing green gaze locked onto his as she repeated, “Do you _love_ him?”

 

Wilson was quiet for a moment, swallowing hard. “Yes,” he answered at last, his voice soft and heavy with emotion. “I love him.”

 

Linda gave a solemn nod in response. “If that’s true,” she stated softly, “then you need to be willing to let him make his mistakes. You have to be willing to allow him to harm his own body at times, rather than break his spirit by trying to take too much control. Loving someone and controlling them are not conducive to each other at all, not really. What your partner needs is the _illusion_ of being forced to make the choices that are best for him. The minute the illusion becomes real, and he loses his choice in the matter – _you_ lose _him_. Do you understand?”

 

Wilson nodded, his brow furrowed with worry, but unable to deny the truth of her words.

 

“I haven’t spent very much time with the two of you, but I _have_ made some observations.” Linda’s expression relaxed into a warm, reassuring smile. “And if I’m right about him, as long as he feels like he has some measure of control over the situation… he’s not going to walk out on you. He loves you, too… and he needs you. But if you’re going to be able to help him, you’re going to have to place some trust in that… in _him_.”

 

Wilson’s nod quickened slightly with understanding, his expression softening. “That… makes sense…”

 

“It’s great that you love him.” Linda’s voice was gentle and encouraging. “But you’re going to have to trust him, and give _him_ some room to trust _you_ , if that love is going to do either of you any good.”

 

“Okay. Thank you.”

 

Wilson rose to his feet, reaching out to shake her hand, as he headed toward the door. Linda had given him a lot to think about… and, he hoped, a better understanding of what it was he was getting into, and what his true objective should be.

 

 _Now, let’s just see if it works…_

 

He headed out to the car where House was waiting for him, steeling himself for the changes ahead – changes that would not be easy on their relationship, but hopefully would save it in the end.

 

 _Here goes everything..._


	22. Desperation

The ride back to Princeton was interminably quiet and tense.

 

Wilson tried to engage House in conversation a couple of times, his curiosity driving him to try to find out what House planned to put in his own version of the contract, but House remained stubbornly silent, refusing to discuss it.

 

So the two of them fell into a sort of heavy, uneasy silence which lasted long past the two hour drive. For a couple of days, House was evasive with Wilson, keeping his distance and refusing to answer any questions Wilson aimed in his direction. When Wilson asked him how much progress he had made on the contract, if he might be ready to discuss it, House simply told him that it wasn’t finished yet, and he would let him know when it was.

 

The awkward tension was starting to get to Wilson. He couldn’t stand living with House, working with him, seeing him nearly every moment of every day, yet barely speaking, hardly touching, for days.

 

The second night, Wilson decided to do something about it.

 

House was sitting on the couch, frowning thoughtfully and writing in a spiral notebook, when he walked through the front door. House didn’t even look up, just kept writing, without so much as saying a word.

 

 _But… maybe that’s a_ good _thing… if he’s almost done with the contract…_

 

Wilson slipped up behind House, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing a tender, enticing kiss to his neck. House’s only response was a deepening of his frown as he leaned away from Wilson in annoyance, tilting the notebook so that the writing inside was outside Wilson’s range of vision.

 

“Almost done?”

 

For once, Wilson’s low, slightly hoarse voice sounded not all that interested in the contract, and much more interested in House himself, as he placed a hand on the side of House’s neck, holding him in place so that the next time Wilson tried to kiss him, he couldn’t pull away.

 

“ _No_ ,” House declared pointedly. “Nowhere near it. So go jerk off in the bathroom and leave me alone, ‘cause you’re not getting any until I am.”

 

Frustrated and embarrassed by House’s blatant rejection, Wilson withdrew immediately, his voice low and resentful as he muttered, “You’re doing this to punish me, aren’t you? Taking forever to finish this contract? Just because you want to get back at me for…”

 

“No, I’m taking forever to finish this contract because I want it to be _right_.”

 

Wilson was quiet for a moment, his dark eyes troubled as he ventured in a soft, uncertain voice, “Is it too late? Have I… have I ruined this? Is that why you… don’t want me to touch you anymore?”

 

House seemed to seriously consider the question for a few moments before correcting him in a surprisingly gentle voice, finally focusing his attention on Wilson as he set the notebook down.

 

“No. It’s not. You haven’t. And I _do_.”

 

He reached out and caught Wilson’s hand, pulling him back just as he was about to move away from the sofa. He waited until Wilson sullenly met his gaze to continue in a soft voice full of more sincerity than House usually offered.

 

“I just think that… until we know exactly what we’re doing… we shouldn’t be doing anything at all.”

 

Wilson stared down at House, surprised by the calm, reasonable manner in which he was actually communicating for a change, and touched by the amount of thought he had obviously put into it.

 

 _Maybe… maybe he’s finally taking this seriously…_

 

“Okay,” Wilson agreed softly, moving back toward House and wrapping an affectionate arm around his shoulders. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. Take as long as you need, and I’ll keep my distance until you’re ready.”

 

They stayed like that for a moment in silence, before House raised an eyebrow, turning his head to give Wilson a dubious look.

 

“Wilson?”

 

Wilson blinked, suddenly understanding.

 

“Right,” he sighed as he removed his arm abruptly and backed away from behind the sofa, his hands raised in front of him in a gesture of surrender. “Right… I’ll just be… somewhere else…”

 

He shook his head in rueful embarrassment as he retreated to the bedroom. House’s words made perfect sense, and Wilson wanted to respect his boundaries – but it seemed that he couldn’t go five seconds without touching him, despite House’s request. And to make things worse, Wilson had no idea how much longer it would take House to finish his contract.

 

 _This is going to be harder than I thought…_

 

****************************

 

Wilson didn’t even venture a glance in House’s direction as he walked through the door the following night, wanting to spare himself the temptation.

 

“It’s finished.”

 

Wilson’s eyes widened in surprise, and he stared at House for a long moment in disbelief.

 

“It’s finished?” he echoed in a tone of cautious excitement, as if not quite daring to believe that House was telling the truth. “Really?”

 

House nodded, a slight, almost serene smile on his lips, though his eyes were solemn and intent.

 

“You ready to hear it?”

 

“House, I’ve _been_ ready since you started working on it.”

 

“Oh, please,” House muttered, rolling his eyes – but there was a flash of amusement in his eyes, and his tone was good-naturedly teasing. “Deny you for a few days, and you’re a useless wreck. Slut.”

 

“Yeah, well, so’s your mom,” Wilson replied almost automatically, his tone eager and impatient as he moved quickly to sit down on the couch beside House. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”

 

“Okay.”

 

House drew in a deep breath, glancing down at the pages in his hands. Wilson noticed that the words were printed on plain white paper, and felt a surge of affection for House with the realization of how much thought and effort he had put into the contract. There was a rare openness and vulnerability in House’s eyes when he raised them to meet Wilson’s gaze.

 

“First of all… I don’t want to be with you… just so you can fix me. If you’re going to be with me… I want it to be… because you want to be with _me_ … even if the things you don’t like _never_ change.” House paused, glancing down at the paper again, though he was not reading it as he added softly, “I know… I’m not exactly a prize… but… I still don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

 

Wilson felt a sharp pang of remorse, blinking back the moisture that suddenly formed in his eyes. He shook his head, his voice barely audible as he affirmed, “No. No, House, that’s not… too much to ask…”

 

House continued as if Wilson had not spoken, desperately trying to move past the thick emotion in Wilson’s words, his own voice hurried and trembling slightly.

 

“So… my rule number one is… no more… holding the threat of leaving me over my head. If I do something that genuinely hurts you, or… or this relationship… then, fine. You’ve got the right to walk away just like you would in any other relationship. But... if you want to be with me, then you want to be with _me_ … whether we continue this whole dominant-submissive thing or not. If at some point down the road I decide… that I don’t want to do this anymore… you can’t just… walk out on me because I don’t want to be under your complete control.”

 

Wilson was too choked up to speak, his guilt intensified by the subtle note of hurt and reproach he heard in House’s voice. House was looking at him, waiting for his response, so Wilson nodded quickly, swallowing back the hard knot in his throat to whisper a hoarse, gentle response.

 

“Okay…. of course…”

 

House continued, a nervous edge to his words betraying his doubt as to whether or not Wilson would accept his next condition, and Wilson prepared himself for an argument.

 

“The second rule is… you can’t try to dictate exactly how many pills I take… can’t hold me to a specific schedule…”

 

“House,” Wilson interrupted in a voice that was gentle but warning, “the pills were my main concern from the beginning. I don’t want you to hurt yourself…”

 

“If you think I’m taking enough pills to hurt my work performance, the people around me, or… or _me_ …” House swallowed hard, not quite looking up at Wilson, his face flushed as he continued, “… then… you can punish me. In… an acceptable manner that I’ve described further in this contract. That’s… that’s fine. But…”

 

House hesitated, looking up at last to meet Wilson’s eyes… and the traces of desperation and fear Wilson saw there nearly took his breath as House went on, his voice strong with conviction despite his misgivings.

 

“… my Vicodin should always be in _my_ possession. You can’t… withhold it from me – not because you think I’m taking too much of it, and _definitely_ not as a punishment. You can punish me in other ways if you think I’m taking too much, but you can’t… control my meds. Because… I’m the only one who knows… my own pain. I’m the only one who can really know… how much I need. Can you… can you deal with that?”

 

Wilson couldn’t look at House, acutely aware and ashamed of how carelessly he had handled House’s pain. Of course, House was right. There was no way that Wilson could really know how much pain he was in, how much Vicodin it took to alleviate that pain. How could House possibly trust him, under the constant threat of having his pain neglected or ignored?

 

 _And yet… he’s still willing to let me punish him for taking them… just as long as I let him_ take _them… God, what am I doing?_

 

“Of course I can, House,” Wilson agreed, his voice low and carefully controlled. “Of course.”

 

House raised a dubious eyebrow in Wilson’s direction, wordlessly reminding him that no so very long ago, Wilson had not been nearly so willing to make such a concession, but then continued on without belaboring the point.

 

 _Or maybe he’s afraid if he gives me the chance I’ll change my mind…_

 

“And rule number three… the last one…”

 

Wilson was surprised at that, having expected House to take much greater advantage of the opportunity to control the situation, but he kept silent, waiting for House to go on.

 

“It’s about punishments. I’ll… submit to whatever punishments you decide to use, with certain… conditions.” He handed Wilson a smaller sheet of paper, folded in half, but didn’t look up at him as he explained softly, “That’s a list of items that are never under any circumstances to be used to punish me.”

 

As Wilson began to read the list, his vision blurred with tears, as his mind took the vague suspicions it had harbored and processed them into fact, with the added evidence of the list in his hands.

 

 _Belt, switch, hairbrush, ruler…_

 

There were several other items as well, all of which were in keeping with the dark, terrible theme in Wilson’s mind – the explanation for House’s extreme reactions when he had attempted to use such items in the past – and it only served to increase Wilson’s guilt. As Wilson quietly folded the paper again and handed it back to House, nodding his agreement, House continued, his tone hushed and subdued.

 

“Also… you can never hurt me bad enough that it’s noticeable the next time I’m in public. And you can’t ever use… my leg… against me. Can’t… hit me there, or… or anything like that…”

 

Horrified, Wilson looked up at House, eyes wide with shock. “House,” he gasped, shaking his head in dismay. “Surely you don’t think that I would _ever_ …”

 

“No,” House reassured him in a halting voice, shaking his head, his eyes focused on his own knees. “I just… wanted to be clear. You never _think_ that… _anyone_ would… do those kinds of things… and yet, those things happen. People do things you’d… never think they’d do.”

 

Wilson was silent, fighting back the impending wave of emotion that threatened to take him under at the thought of how House had come by that painful knowledge. He did not want to give way to his tears in front of House, especially when those tears were _for_ House, and would surely be perceived as pity, and rejected with disgust. He swallowed back a sob, struggling to get control again before finally speaking.

 

“Well… I wouldn’t,” he insisted, his voice low and determined. “I can do the things that you’ve asked, House… and I’ll prove to you that… that I would never do a thing like that to you.” He reached out a tentative hand to rest on House’s knee, relieved when House allowed the gesture. “I… I _love_ you.”

 

House merely nodded, but Wilson saw the words returned in his grateful but guarded gaze. After a moment, House ventured to speak again.

 

“I think as long as I know that… if it gets to be too much… if I can’t handle it… I can end _this part_ of our relationship… without ending… our _relationship_... and that… _I’m_ going to be in control of my own meds… my own _pain,_ then… I can do this.” He was silent for a moment, looking up to meet Wilson’s eyes as he amended, “I _want_ to do this.”

 

Wilson shifted closer to him on the sofa, wanting to offer comfort and reassurance for the vulnerable uncertainty he saw in House’s eyes. When he placed a gentle hand on House’s waist, drawing him closer, he was relieved that House responded to the gesture, edging closer to him as well. Wilson raised a hand to cup the back of House’s head, and House yielded to his touch, his lips parting to accept Wilson’s kiss.

 

When they finally drew apart, both were breathless, aching with the desperation of their recent enforced separation, and the fear of the failure of the relationship that was coming to mean so much to both of them. They clung to each other, as if trying to cling to what was between them and protect it against the turmoil that was threatening to destroy it.

 

“We _can_ do this,” Wilson insisted, muttering the words against House’s mouth between fervent kisses. “We can do this, I _know_ we can…"


	23. Experimentation

“All of your rules are perfectly reasonable, and you haven’t asked for anything that you don’t rightly deserve.”

 

Wilson’s voice was hushed and softly reassuring as he wrapped a gentle arm around House’s shoulders and drew him in closer to himself. The intensity of their emotional reunion had faded, for the moment replaced by relief at the fact that they seemed to be well on the way to fixing the problems that existed between them. They sat together on the couch, each quietly considering his own personal thoughts on the matter.

 

Wilson’s considerations were somewhat less quiet than House’s.

 

“If this is all it’s going to take for you to be able to let me take the authority in this situation and _actually submit_ to that authority, well… I’m more than willing to abide by those rules. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this easier for you – to make it work for you. After all, this is all about _you_ , House, not about me and what I want. I just want to do whatever it takes to…”

 

“You’re sure doing an awful lot of talking about a subject that’s not about you,” House muttered, rolling his eyes and shifting uncomfortably under the acute focus of Wilson’s concern.

 

“Well… it’s a subject that _needs_ talking about, you know?” Wilson pointed out, waiting until House met his eyes to continue in a voice of soft, earnest certainty. “This is something that needs to be taken seriously. I agree with what you put in your rules, and I agree that if you ever decide you want to back out of this arrangement, I’ll let you without consequence.”

 

Wilson hesitated, glancing away before meeting House’s eyes again and continuing with slow, carefully measured words. “But… as long as you _haven’t_ decided that… as long as that’s what we’re saying we’re doing… then… we need to actually _do_ it. All or nothing. You understand? You can’t just… jump in and out of it every time you don’t like one of my decisions.”

 

House was silent, his eyes solemn and downcast as he considered those words. At last, he nodded once, not looking up as he responded in a low, subdued voice.

 

“I won’t. I’m not going into this on a whim, and I won’t back out of it on one, either. So… as long as _you_ can abide by _my_ rules, too, then… I’ll do what you say. I’ll… _submit_.”

 

House’s expression as well as his tone suggested that the very word had an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Wilson’s dark eyes softened with sympathy as his hand trailed up from House’s shoulder to play affectionately through his hair, traces of an understanding smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

 

“Good.”

 

All at once Wilson rose to his feet, and House watched with apprehensive surprise as his expression shifted in an instant from gentle to unyielding, the tenderness in his eyes tempered and darkened with lust. His light fingertips in House’s hair became hard, gripping a fistful and tugging his head slightly backward in a gesture meant to emphasize House’s vulnerability to him. His voice was low and silken when he spoke, barely over a whisper.

 

“Let’s start now.”

 

The dark promise in Wilson’s voice made House’s stomach lurch with alarm, even as his heartbeat accelerated with anticipation. Unconsciously he bit his lower lip in hesitation, searching Wilson’s gaze. Uncertain, but unresisting, he remained silent, waiting to see what Wilson would do next.

 

Noting the hesitation in House’s eyes, Wilson allowed his touch to soften again, feeling a tingling thrill of satisfaction when House instinctively leaned into his caress, very slightly pushing his head back into Wilson’s hand. Wilson’s voice lowered, and he shifted nearer, leaning in closer to House as he continued in a tone that was both reassuring and enticing.

 

“We’ve fought and struggled and gone back and forth over this… almost lost our entire relationship to this… but tonight… I just want to remind you how _good_ it can be… if you’ll let me.”

 

House was quiet for a moment, his piercing gaze searching Wilson’s eyes, a convulsive swallow visible in his throat. Finally, he nodded, ducking his head in an uncharacteristic gesture of submission and acceptance before quietly responding.

 

“I said I wanted to do this, right? So… let’s do this.”

 

Wilson nodded slowly, listening carefully for any hint of genuine fear in House’s voice. He knew that House was not completely comfortable with surrendering control – possibly never would be – but he also knew that if House was going to achieve the level of trust and intimacy necessary for this entire arrangement to work, it was not going to come without a little inevitable discomfort.

 

Regardless, he wanted to leave no doubt in House’s mind as to whether or not Wilson would respect his limits.

 

“You need to have a safe word,” Wilson reminded his lover, his voice trembling slightly with the reality of what they were about to do. “So I know if things are getting out of control…”

 

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,” House scoffed. “As if you could ever make me use it.”

 

“Making you use it isn’t the point.” Wilson couldn’t keep a slight edge of irritation out of his voice, as it appeared that House was making a joke of the situation again. “This is serious, House – because once we start this, that’s the only way you’re getting out of it, and I need to know that you’re okay.”

 

All traces of mockery left House’s face, and his tone was suddenly genuinely serious as he replied softly, with a single word that momentarily stopped Wilson’s breath.

 

“Infarction.”

 

“O-okay…” Wilson was uncertain. “Are you sure…?”

 

“It’s the most thoroughly unsexy, unpleasant word I can imagine, and the least likely for me to use if I’m actually enjoying myself.”

 

House’s voice was quiet and subdued as he explained his choice, and Wilson felt a heavy ache building in his chest at the barely masked apprehension in his eyes and voice. He immediately chided himself for failing to recognize it earlier. House _did_ realize that this was serious – _incredibly_ serious – and he was only using his sarcastic sense of humor as a defense against baring the intense vulnerability he felt.

 

 _And there’s nothing I can say that will reassure him… not now, when I’ve already damaged his trust. All I can do is_ show _him that he can trust me now… that I’m not going to take advantage of that vulnerability and use it to hurt him…_

“All right, then,” Wilson agreed, his voice hushed to disguise the intensity of emotion he felt. “‘Infarction’ it is.”

 

He allowed his hand to fall from House’s head, taking a step backward and squaring his soldiers as he surveyed his waiting, apprehensive lover, deliberately closing off his emotions and presenting a cool, controlled façade for House to see. Wilson knew that if House was really looking for it he could easily see through his act, but reasoned that it was actually better for both of them if he did.

 

 _It’s the_ illusion _of control that matters. He has to be free to surrender himself safely to me… but he has to know that the_ real _power is in_ his _hands the whole time…_

 

“Get up.” Wilson’s voice was cool and commanding as he gave the soft order. “And walk into the bedroom.”

 

House stared up at him for a long moment, and Wilson thought he saw a barely perceptible shiver pass through him as he rose to his feet with reluctant, halting movements. Without a word, he obeyed, making his way across the room and to the bedroom door.

 

“Sit down on the bed.”

 

House’s eyes were wide, uncertain, as he obeyed the command, sitting down on the side of the bed nearest to Wilson, his cane clutched tightly in one white-knuckled hand and tapping nervously against the carpet. He visibly tensed as Wilson closed the distance between them at a slow, leisurely pace, clearly in no hurry. Wilson reached down to gently grip House’s arm, stilling the rhythmic tapping, noting the tremor in the taut muscle beneath his hand.

 

Wilson held House’s searching gaze, smiling slightly as he reached with his free hand to take the cane from House’s grasp. It was then that he encountered House’s first actual resistance, as House’s grip tightened on the cane, his lips parted in an aborted protest as he shook his head slightly.

 

“No defenses, House,” Wilson gently reminded him, sliding his hand up to House’s shoulder and kneading slightly in a slow, soothing motion. “You don’t need a weapon. This is all about surrender.” His voice lowered as he leaned in, his lips near House’s ear as he added in a hushed, intent tone, “ _Trust_ … that I am _not_ going to hurt you… I know it makes you feel safer… but that’s the whole point, isn’t it? The only security you need… is _me_ …”

 

House hesitated a moment longer, his internal struggle visible on his face before he finally released his hold on the cane, relinquishing it to Wilson’s hand. Wilson’s smile widened slightly with affectionate approval as he took a step backward. He held the cane in both hands and looked down at it for a moment before turning and crossing the room, leaning the cane against the dresser and walking back to stand in front of House again.

 

Wilson raised a hand to brush his knuckles gently down the side of House’s face, his dark eyes soft with affection. His brow furrowed slightly in sorrow when House barely suppressed a flinch, but Wilson did not call attention to it in the slightest. He slid his hand around to the back of House’s head, pulling him in for a slow, lingering kiss. House gradually relaxed into the kiss, raising a tentative, trembling hand to Wilson’s waist and urging him closer.

 

When they finally parted, Wilson met House’s eyes in a warm, reassuring smile as he issued a soft command in a tone of barely restrained anticipation.

 

“Take off your shirt.”

 

Seeming to be somewhat reassured by the gentle contact, House nodded hurriedly, unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers and shrugging it off his shoulders and onto the bed. He swallowed hard, his eyes averted self-consciously, as Wilson reached past him to take the shirt and toss it behind him onto the floor, then headed toward the dresser, calling a casual command over his shoulder.

 

“Lie down on your back and put your hands over your head.”

 

Once again, House obeyed, though he let out a deep, shuddering breath as he hesitantly raised his arms over his head, automatically clutching at the headboard with damp, trembling hands. He glanced up to see Wilson making his way back toward him, a familiar set of wide black leather cuffs in his hand, along with a second piece of leather – a long, simple strip for which he could only guess at the purpose.

 

“Just can’t wait to get me all helpless and at your mercy, can you?” There was a note of subtle defiance to his trembling voice as he forced a taunting smirk to his lips. “Yeah. This is all for _my_ benefit. It’s got nothing at all to do with you and your massive control freak issues.”

 

“Shhh,” Wilson murmured, pressing a single finger to House’s lips, then leaning down to replace it with his mouth. He drew back after a brief, tender kiss, meeting House’s eyes to reassure him softly, his lips still bare inches above House’s mouth. “In general – it’s probably about a little bit of both.” Before House could jump on his unexpected confession, Wilson hurried to continue, “But _this – tonight – is_ all about you, House. All about me showing you that you can trust me.”

 

He was silent for a moment, allowing his words to sink in before adding a hushed question.

 

“So will you? Trust me?” He paused, running a gentle hand down House’s side as he added, “You don’t have to let me do this, House. You can always change your mind.”

 

House bit his lower lip, hesitant, but reassured by the reminder that he _did_ have an option in the matter. Finally he nodded, closing his eyes for a moment and letting out a heavy sigh of resignation.

 

“No,” he whispered, his jaw set with determination. “No… do… whatever it is you’re gonna do. I… I can take it.”

 

Wilson frowned, troubled by the underlying fear he heard in House’s voice. He knew that House had every reason to distrust him, and no reason at all to believe that he would be safe at Wilson’s mercy. Still, it hurt to consider what it was exactly that House thought he was submitting to.

 

 _I’ve got a lot of making up to him to do… but I’ll do it. I’ll make him see that he can trust me with his body… his heart… everything…_

Aloud, he replied in a cryptically mild voice, “We’ll see.”

 

House opened his eyes, slightly alarmed, as Wilson fastened one of the cuffs around House’s right wrist, then ran them behind the middle slat of the headboard to lock the other one around House’s left wrist. When Wilson moved his hands, House immediately tested the strength of the bonds, drawing in a sharp breath when he realized that they held firm, and he would not be able to break them should he feel the need to do so.

 

“It’s okay,” Wilson murmured. His hand was resting on House’s chest, and he could feel the rapid acceleration of his heartbeat under his palm. “House… calm down… I’m not going to hurt you… it’s okay…”

 

House nodded, visibly trying to relax despite his misgivings. After giving him a few moments to adjust to the idea, Wilson picked up the remaining strip of leather now lying on the bedspread beside House, holding it up so House could see it.

 

A deep, convulsive swallow was visible in House’s throat as he stared at it through wide, fearful eyes.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re going to do with that?”

 

“Just trust me, House,” Wilson persisted. “I promise you’re going to like it.”

 

As he spoke, Wilson placed the flat strip of leather over House’s eyes, following the motion with his hands when House jerked away in an instinctive moment of panic.

 

“Hold still,” Wilson instructed, his voice taking on a firm note of command – and to his amazement, House went still, though his lips were parted and he was breathing in rapid, shallow bursts, as if struggling to control his own fear. “It’s okay, House… it’s okay. Just _trust me_ … and I can make this _so_ good for you…”

 

House started to speak, and for one sinking moment of disappointment, Wilson was certain that he was going to invoke the safe word. Then, all at once, House closed his mouth, biting his lip as if to physically keep the word locked inside. He nodded shakily and stopped resisting as Wilson tied the blindfold firmly behind House’s head – then covered House’s mouth with his own; pressing past the barrier of his trembling lips until House hesitantly returned the kiss.

 

Wilson felt a stirring of hope in his chest at the response, however tentative.

 

At least House was trying.

 

 _And I’m going to make it worth it for him. He’s not going to regret trusting me – not this time. I’m going to make this a night he won’t ever forget…_


	24. Risk

House’s tension was almost a physical presence in the room with them as Wilson tested the restraints that held him to the bed, then drew back a few steps. He just stood there beside the bed, taking a few moments to indulge in the rather enticing image House made, blindfolded and bound to the bed – utterly at Wilson’s mercy.

 

As Wilson watched, the silence and lack of contact began to get to House. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, tugging uselessly against the cuffs at his wrists in what was more a nervous gesture than an actual attempt to get free. He knew that the cuffs were more than strong enough to hold him.

 

“So are you going to go ahead and get this over with sometime tonight? Show me who’s boss and have a little fun with me so I can go to bed?”

 

Despite the slight tremor it held, House’s voice carried a note of stubborn defiance, his hands clenching into frustrated fists, his head turning to the side in a vain attempt to find Wilson in the empty silence of the room. Wilson’s expression softened with sympathy as he took in House’s obvious anxiety and recognized that House was still on the defensive, still expecting Wilson to somehow take selfish advantage of the utterly vulnerable position in which House had allowed himself to be placed.

 

Wilson sat down slowly on the side of the bed, careful of House’s bad leg, as he reached a tender, affectionate hand toward House’s cheek. He winced, saddened when House flinched at the contact, drawing in a sharp breath, and Wilson realized that he half-expected a blow as readily as a caress. He chose not to embarrass House by calling attention to the reaction, and instead addressed House’s words in a soft, patient tone.

 

“Tonight is not about rushing through this and getting it over with – and it’s not about me getting off on dominating you. Tonight… we’re just going to take our time…” He paused, leaning in closer, his voice hushed and understanding as he added, “… and I’m not going to hurt you, House. I’ll _never_ hurt you. So… you should just… relax, and trust me. That’s what this is all about anyway: submission… and _trust._ ”

 

House let out a rude snort of derision at those words. “I’m chained to the bed,” he reminded Wilson. “I _let_ you chain me to the bed. How much more trust and submission do you want?”

 

“Quite a bit, actually.”

 

Wilson’s voice was quiet and controlled, and House apparently found that all the more unnerving, as a convulsive swallow was visible in his throat, and his clenched fists strained unintentionally against the cuffs that bound them. Wilson rested a gentle hand on House’s shoulder, squeezing slightly in silent reassurance, and his voice was filled with understanding and compassion as he explained.

 

“So far, the only thing you’ve trusted in is that I won’t hurt you _any more than you can take_ , apparently – not that I won’t hurt you _at all_. And I _won’t_ , House. You have to believe that I’m not going to go past your limits.” He paused, amending, “I’m going to push them, that’s for sure. But that’s the purpose of the safe word. If at any point I start to take things farther than you want them to go, you have the power to stop it. That’s the whole point.”

 

He ran his hand slowly from House’s shoulder up his arm to rest lightly over his taut, trembling bicep. His expression softened with sympathy as he noted the apprehension that House could not conceal despite his best efforts.

 

“Just relax…” Wilson leaned down to murmur the words into House’s ear. “… and let me take over.” He hesitated, his voice taking on a note of vulnerability and desperation as he added, “ _Please_.”

 

House swallowed hard, and his uncertainty was clearly visible in the taut lines of his face. Finally, he nodded slowly, letting out a deep, shaky breath. He tried for boredom and unconcern with his response, but didn’t quite make it.

 

“Fine. Whatever.”

 

Wilson smiled with affection as he pressed a brief, tender kiss to House’s jaw line, then rose up to look down at House, once more indulging in the impossibly tempting image he made in his particular state of submission and vulnerability.

 

“Good. We’ll get started, then.” Wilson made his voice firm and commanding as he continued, “From this moment, you will not speak unless you need to say your safe word. You will not pull away from me – you won’t move at all. You’ll just lie perfectly still… and let me do… whatever I want…”

 

House’s breath quickened slightly at Wilson’s authoritative tone, and the dark promise of his words. He hesitated before nodding again almost imperceptibly, though not venturing to speak.

 

 _Good… complete obedience already…_

 

Wilson leaned down again, one hand tangling in House’s hair to guide his head up into a deep, languorous kiss. House was passive at first, simply submitting to Wilson’s advance; but Wilson was not sure whether it was because he was genuinely not that into it at the moment, or because he was trying to be obedient to Wilson’s commands. Just when he was about to back off, unwilling to force on House anything he didn’t want, Wilson felt a soft shudder pass through House’s body beneath him, and House began to tentatively return the kiss, a quiet, desirous moan stifled by Wilson’s tongue in his mouth.

 

Wilson allowed his hands to trail up House’s arms to his wrists, gripping them lightly just below the leather cuffs as he deepened the kiss. He could feel House’s body beneath him responding to the added suggestion of restraint, and smiled against House’s lips as he finally drew back from the kiss, his forehead resting against House’s as he drew in a soft gasp, trying to catch his breath.

 

“God, House…” he whispered, allowing his hands to trail downward again as he pressed a series of soft, enticing kisses down the line of House’s throat to his collarbone. “… you are so… _so_ freakin’ hot like this…”

 

House’s breath was shallow and uneven, and he bit his lip to hold back a strangled sound of pleasure and need as Wilson’s mouth began slowly working its way down his chest. When Wilson’s lips closed around one of House’s nipples, laving it slowly with his tongue before drawing back to blow a soft puff of air onto the damp, sensitive skin, House could no longer keep still, his wrists twisting uselessly against his bonds as his back arched slightly.

 

“Wilson… please…”

 

“Begging already?”

 

Wilson smirked as he drew back to survey House’s reaction. He reached down to tweak the already over-stimulated nipple between finger and thumb, allowing his nails to come into play just enough to elicit a sharp hiss of breath from House’s lips. House twisted helplessly beneath Wilson’s touch, though it was not clear to either of them whether he was trying to escape Wilson’s attentions, or responding to them.

 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Wilson warned, allowing his playful voice to take on a sharp, warning edge. “Keep still, remember? I’d hate to have to punish you.”

 

With that, he lowered his mouth to cover House’s other nipple, gently teasing with lips and tongue as his hands trailed idly back and forth along the line where House’s jeans met bare flesh.

 

“Yeah,” House muttered breathlessly, a slight hitch in his words. “You’d… _hate_ that. Right…”

 

The final word broke off in a startled cry as Wilson’s lips were replaced by teeth in a brief but sharp bite. Wilson let out a soft huff of silent laughter against House’s chest as House bit back a groan, then gently soothed the abused flesh with his tongue. He finally drew back, smirking, as he trailed a teasing fingertip in a lazy circle around House’s nipple, giving House a speculative look.

 

“Yeah, gotta admit…” He shrugged. “… that _is_ kinda fun. Which is all the more reason for you to keep from giving me the excuse to do it, don’t you think?” He applied his fingernail slightly, his smile widening as House struggled to keep still under the added stimulation. “Unless of course… you _like_ being punished…”

 

House shook his head slightly, biting his lip in an effort to keep silent, his body trembling visibly with the effort to keep from moving. Wilson’s mouth formed a slight pout of mock disappointment, and he let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh.

 

“Hmm… guess not. Oh, well.” His hands drifted to rest at House’s waist in a subtly possessive gesture as he mused in a wickedly playful voice, “Looks like I’ll just have to try a little harder…”

 

Holding House down against the bed with his hands, Wilson allowed his mouth to trail slowly across the taut plane of House’s stomach, alternating kisses and licks and tiny, teasing bites until House was shaking violently with the effort to hold back his response to Wilson’s ministrations. Wilson let out a happy hum at the sound of House’s shuddering gasp for breath above his head, and began to punctuate his gentle brand of torture with hushed words of desire and affection.

 

“House… you have no idea… what you’re doing to me… all laid out for me like this… at my mercy… your body… all mine to explore…”

 

A choked whimper caught in House’s throat, a tremor passing through his body in response to Wilson’s possessive words. Wilson rose up off him, his hands drifting inward to play at House’s waistband again, one lingering there while the other slowly unfastened the button and eased the zipper down. He pulled the jeans down low around his thighs, exposing his swollen erection, then pressed one knee onto the gathered fabric to pin House’s legs in place as well.

 

House’s drew in his breath sharply at the added restraint, and Wilson detected a faint note of alarm in the sound. A sad feeling of sympathy filled him as he realized that it was probably due to Wilson’s attentions moving so near to the most vulnerable area of House’s body.

 

“Shh,” he soothed him softly. “It’s all right. Trust me… I’m not going to hurt you…”

 

House’s breath was rapid and shaky as he gave a hurried nod, indicating for Wilson to go ahead and do whatever it was he intended to do. Wilson stroked his hand slowly back and forth along the line of House’s hip in a gesture of affectionate reassurance.

 

“Good… House, you’re doing so good… You have no idea… how much this means to me…”

 

House’s head fell back with a muffled groan of frustration, and Wilson could almost see him rolling his eyes behind the blindfold at Wilson’s insistence on _talking_ when his mouth should have been busy with other pursuits. He laughed softly, shaking his head in acceptance as he lowered himself slowly down the bed, his mouth hovering over House’s erection.

 

“I get it…” he murmured in a voice of affectionate amusement. “… hurry up and get on with it, right? All right, then…”

 

House could not suppress a sharp cry of surprised sensation as Wilson all at once took him into his mouth, engulfing his cock in a flood of soft, wet heat. His back arched against the mattress beneath him, his entire body trembling with tension and need, instinctively pulling against the various restraints that held him still and helpless at Wilson’s mercy.

 

Not that he particularly minded at the moment.

 

Wilson took his time, gradually building the intensity of sensation with slow, gentle caresses of his mouth that made House moan with frustrated need, desperate for Wilson to simply get on with it.

 

Wilson had other ideas.

 

Just when House was about to come, Wilson drew back, teasing House idly with his fingertips, using just the tip of his tongue to give him just enough pleasure to tantalize and torment him without allowing him the release he craved. Then, he would deepen his efforts again, until House was once again on the edge – only to back off again.

 

Throughout it all, House remained silent and still – more or less. Every now and then he couldn’t help a tremor or jerk that passed through his body, or a low, frustrated sound would escape his lips… but Wilson found it rather flattering to think that it was the best he could do under the circumstances. Finally, Wilson took pity on his nearly frantic lover and intensified his efforts, continuing until House found his release with a strangled cry of pleasure and relief, his body falling limp and trembling against the mattress.

 

Wilson pulled House’s jeans off the rest of the way, freeing his legs, before moving to the head of the bed to unfasten the leather cuffs and allow them to fall away from House’s wrists. He smiled softly, pressing a tender kiss to House’s mouth, pleased and relieved when House eagerly returned it, though even his mouth was trembling with exhaustion.

 

“I love you…”

 

Wilson murmured the words without hesitation, not surprised or even upset when he received no response. It didn’t matter if House audibly returned the words or not.

 

That wasn’t what this night was about.

 

“You are so amazing,” Wilson whispered as he gently turned House’s head to the side and carefully untied the blindfold. “You did _so_ well tonight…”

 

House turned to face him, blinking and frowning against the light until his vision came into focus. He lowered his gaze self-consciously as Wilson kissed him again, then gently tipped his head up, silently insisting that House look him in the eye. His tone was soft and warning as he continued.

 

“Though, you know… it won’t always be this easy. We’ll be… testing the limits… building up to things that… might be a little more difficult for you than…” His voice trailed off as he made a vague downward gesture that drew an amused smirk to House’s lips.

 

“… accepting an unbelievable blow job?” House concluded for him. “Yeah. I can see how things could get a little more challenging than that.”

 

Wilson’s smile faded slightly as he recognized the subtle apprehension behind House’s light, joking words. He had expected his warning to bring up some fears in House’s mind as to just how far things might go between them in the future.

 

“But we’re gonna go slow this time,” he assured him gently. “Baby steps. And with every single one, I’m going to make sure it’s completely okay with you before we take it.”

 

House nodded, his eyes lowered, clearly a bit embarrassed by Wilson’s tenderness and concern. Still, Wilson detected a hint of gratitude in House’s expression, as he let out a soft sigh of relief.

 

 _This is gonna take some time… but that’s okay. We’re making progress. He’s starting to trust me, and eventually… we’ll get to the place where he can trust me completely again..._


	25. Outburst

“So… this safe word thing.”

 

House’s soft, cautious words broke the sated silence that fell in the wake of their intense encounter. His back was to Wilson, whose arms were wrapped around him, holding him close, bare skin against skin under the warmth of the blankets draped over them. Wilson was silent, slowly stroking affectionate fingertips back and forth along House’s arm as he waited patiently for him to continue.

 

“Is that for… _any_ time? Or just during sex?”

 

Wilson was quiet for a moment, considering the question and carefully weighing the right response. Finally he spoke in a hushed, thoughtful tone.

 

“This isn’t just a game for us, House. This is a… a lifestyle change. If you’re going to be submissive to me… that’s… _all_ the time, not just when we’re sleeping together. Not even just at home. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

 

Wilson bit his lip, a worried frown creasing his brow as he waited for House’s reaction, wondering if perhaps that realization might be too much for House to accept. After a few moments, however, House replied in a wary, thoughtful voice.

 

“What about at work?”

 

“Well… you _do_ work during the regular twenty-four hours of any given day,” Wilson replied with wry gentleness, his hand slowly running up and down House’s arm, drawing him instinctively closer as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to his bare shoulder before amending, “I’ve been thinking, though; and… I think it’s a bad idea for me to try to interfere in your work. That’s… _your_ space.”

 

House turned slightly to look over his shoulder at Wilson, a dubious brow raised in surprise. “What about Cuddy’s sanity and the safety of my patients and all that crap you were so worried about a couple of days ago?”

 

Wilson shrugged slightly, a sheepish smile on his face as he admitted, “Bringing those things as close to the edge as you can possibly get them, and then bringing them back again is… your _thing_. Cuddy hired you, and _needs_ you at this hospital, because of the borderline insanity you create every day – your particular way of doing things. It’s where you’re the most confident, and it’s what you do best.” He paused, shaking his head slowly, an affectionate smile on his lips as he met House’s eyes. “I wouldn’t be helping anyone by screwing around with that.”

 

House turned away, but not before Wilson caught a glimpse of the satisfied smile that formed on his face at Wilson’s assurance.

 

“Good to know,” he murmured as he settled back into Wilson’s embrace.

 

Wilson waited a moment before venturing to add, “Of course… that doesn’t mean that our arrangement isn’t in effect during working hours. We should always remember it and keep it in mind – but there’s no reason to make it obvious.”

 

“Like referring to you as ‘master’ in front of Cuddy, and such?” Wilson felt House’s smirk against his arm, and couldn’t suppress a grin of his own at the mental image inspired by his words. “Why not? That could be fun.”

 

“Yeah. And also… problematic,” Wilson replied, still smiling. “No, just treat me the same as always in front of people while we’re at work. But… any time we happen to be alone… you’re to continue to be submissive… respectful. You know me well enough to know what I expect.”

 

House didn’t speak, simply nodded slowly against Wilson’s arm.

 

“And even in front of the others… there are certain lines that aren’t to be crossed. And again… you know what those are,” Wilson went on quietly. “Sarcasm is one thing; deliberate attempts at humiliation are another, you know?”

 

House was silent for a long moment, and Wilson’s heart sped up a bit with apprehension, as he found himself wondering once again if he was perhaps asking a bit too much of his partner. Finally, House let out a soft sigh of resignation as he muttered a teasingly petulant response.

 

“You realize you just took away the highlight of most of my days, right?”

 

Wilson let out a slow breath, measuring it carefully in an attempt to suppress his visible reaction. Overwhelmed with gratitude and relief, he kissed House’s neck again, pleased when House instinctively arched his neck to grant him better access. After a moment, he raised a gentle hand to turn House’s face toward his own, meeting his eyes as he murmured a low, enticing suggestion.

 

“Then we’ll just have to find you a new one.”

 

***************************

 

Disaster struck the following afternoon, shattering the new-found tranquility of their recovering relationship.

 

Wilson was sitting in his office, alone when Chase knocked on his door. Although he was not eager to discuss the topic he knew Chase was coming to talk about, Wilson beckoned him in, aware that he owed him at least the most minimal and vague of explanations in return for the good advise that had probably saved his and House’s relationship from complete failure.

 

“So how’d it go?” Chase immediately asked, eager curiosity in his blue eyes as he took a seat across from Wilson’s desk.

 

“Good.” Wilson nodded, smiling. “He actually agreed to go with me to see her. And… she gave us some very good advice. I think… we’re going to be fine.”

 

Both men jumped guiltily when the door abruptly opened and House poked his head inside.

 

“You,” he gruffly addressed Chase, pointing his thumb over his shoulder and nodding toward the hallway. “My office, now.”

 

“O-okay…”

 

Chase hesitantly complied, rising from his chair with a suspicious frown and edging warily past House out into the hallway. House stalked into Wilson’s office, slamming the door behind him. He wasted no time in getting directly to his point.

 

“Was that conversation what it sounded like? Does he _know_?”

 

Wilson gave an apologetic grimace, lowering his face into his hands for a moment and letting out a weary sigh. His suspicions confirmed, House threw his arms up in frustrated disgust, his cane waving wildly.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re _doing_?”

 

Wilson looked up, a matter-of-fact expression of resignation on his face as he answered with a slight shrug. “Talking to Cuddy right away about sound-proofing my office, apparently.”

 

“Damn it, Wilson, this is _not_ a freaking _joke_!” House snapped, cutting him off, his voice trembling with fury. “Isn’t that what you said just last night? It’s not something to play around with – unless it’s _you_ playing around with it, bragging to my employees about how you’ve got me right where you want me…”

 

“No.” Wilson’s tone was sharp, edged with warning. “House, that was not even close to what happened…”

 

“How much does he know?” House demanded, taking a step toward Wilson, then changing his mind and storming back to the door.

 

“Very little, I swear…”

 

Wilson was still attempting to calm House when he threw the office door open, bellowing out into the hallway, as though he expected that his employee was not already long since out of sight.

 

“ _Chase_!”

 

Unfortunately for Chase, he was _not_ out of sight.

 

He was standing a couple of feet from Wilson’s door, apparently attempting to overhear the conversation between House and Wilson. House’s unexpected shout sent him staggering a couple of backward steps, nearly losing his balance completely as he stared at House through wide, startled eyes. House blinked, a slow, malicious smile forming on his lips as he realized why Chase was still there.

 

“Get in here,” he demanded, beckoning toward the door with a dramatic flourish of his hand. Once Chase had hesitantly obeyed, House slammed the door hard, demanding without preamble, “What do you know?”

 

Chase glanced helplessly between the two of them, swallowing hard, eyes wide and slightly panicked. He had no idea what he needed to say in order to diffuse the obviously volatile situation.

 

“Uh…”

 

“You know what? Never mind,” House cut him off, returning to the door and jerking it open, glaring at Chase and then Wilson before returning his furious gaze to Chase and concluding in disgust, “You’re only going to tell me what he wants you to tell me, anyway, because you’re a pathetic little suck-up; and he doesn’t want you to tell me anything, because he’s a lying, two-faced bastard. Forget it. It doesn’t matter. _This_ …” House waved his pointer finger back and forth between himself and Wilson, holding Wilson’s gaze as he stated coldly, “… is _over_.”

 

Wilson’s stomach dropped to somewhere around his shoes as House stormed out of his office, stalking furiously down the hall away from him.

 

 _No… no, not_ now _… not when things are finally starting to be good again…_

Fighting off his own sense of panic, Wilson scrambled to his feet, following after House, leaving a dumbfounded and confused Chase standing uselessly in his office. The hallway was empty except for House and Wilson, so Wilson called out sharply, stupidly hoping that his words alone would stop House’s retreat.

 

“House! _Stop_!”

 

Of course, House didn’t stop.

 

Unwilling to draw attention to them, Wilson remained silent as he followed House through the halls to the elevators, hurrying his pace in order to catch up with him just before the elevator doors closed. He reached out a hand to keep them open long enough to slip inside, ignoring House’s quiet curse of frustration at Wilson’s successfully intercepting his escape.

 

Once the doors had closed, Wilson turned to face House, arms crossed over his chest.

 

“You realize that you’ve just completely defied me.”

 

“No shit,” House scoffed, a cold smirk on his lips as he met Wilson’s eyes at last. “Just one of the pleasant little perks of _ending our relationship_!”

 

“You haven’t ended our relationship,” Wilson insisted. “Until you use your safe word and call a halt to our arrangement – temporary or otherwise – you’re not free of me and our relationship.” He paused, his tone hardening slightly as he concluded, “You’re just… _disobedient_.”

 

“I don’t _believe_ you!” House exploded, shaking his head in indignant disbelief. “You’re the one who betrayed my privacy and told one of my subordinates something intensely private and personal without my permission, then _lied_ to me about it – and you’re going to try to make this _my_ fault? I have every right to break up with you right now!”

 

The quiet ding of the elevator light above them indicated their arrival at the first floor of the hospital, and House took an eager step toward the door, all too eager to escape this confrontation. His jaw set with determination, just as desperate to prevent House’s escape, Wilson stepped forward with him and pressed the button to keep the elevator doors shut for the moment.

 

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, meeting House’s irritated, accusing gaze with calm certainty. “And yet… you haven’t…”

 

House just glared at him stubbornly for a long moment, before finally looking away, uncomfortable with Wilson’s calm scrutiny.

 

“… because you’re not sure you really _want_ to.”

 

Wilson stated his observation with quiet conviction, gratified when House did not contradict his words. House glared at the floor for a long moment, visibly struggling between his anger at Wilson’s betrayal, and his unwillingness to simply walk away from him, in spite of that. Finally, he spoke in a soft, hurt tone of voice, without raising his eyes to meet Wilson’s searching gaze.

 

“You lied to me.”

 

“I didn’t lie to you,” Wilson quietly insisted. “I just… didn’t tell you everything.” He was quiet for a moment, well aware that his excuse was not enough for House – and rightfully so. After a moment he amended his words softly.

 

“I _should_ have told you everything. I was just… trying to protect you,” he admitted. “Chase figured it out on his own; I didn’t tell him. And when he asked me about it, I… I was… confused, and… and I was screwing everything up… and he seemed to know what he was talking about, so…” Wilson shrugged with a sheepish grimace. “… I opened up. And it’s a good thing I did, because it was Chase’s idea to talk to a professional about… what we’re doing here. It just sort of… _happened_. I didn’t mean for it to, but it did. And then once it had, I… I didn’t see any reason to tell you, because I knew it would upset you.”

 

House looked up at him sharply, accusation in his eyes.

 

“But I still should have,” Wilson hurried to amend. “I know. And… I’m sorry.”

 

House was quiet for a few moments, considering. Wilson tried to fill the awkward silence with tense, anxious babble, trying to be reassuring, but mostly just succeeding in being a little irritating.

 

“I’m pretty sure he won’t say anything to anyone else. He’s got a little bit of experience in these matters, and he was pretty respectful when we talked, so I don’t think we have to worry about him gossiping with the rest of the team, anything like that…”

 

“No, of course we don’t,” House retorted, a single brow raised. “Not if I so fully terrify the shit out of him that he won’t dare say a word to anyone.” A slight, wicked smile formed on his lips as he gave a little half-shrug. “He’s already such a suck-up that he probably wouldn’t say anything anyway.”

 

Wilson nodded with a smile of amusement as he imagined the sort of tactics House might employ to ensure Chase’s silence. After a moment his smile faded into a more serious expression as he reached out to touch House’s cheek, gently turning his face up, insisting that he meet his eyes. Despite the firm authority of the gesture, however, there was uncertainty in Wilson’s voice when he spoke.

 

“So, then… we’re okay?”

 

House let out a softly derisive huff. “ _I’m_ okay. _You’re_ a liar and a blabbermouth.”

 

Wilson did not smile, a troubled frown creasing his brow. “But… you don’t want to break up?”

 

House sighed, rolling his eyes as he admitted, “No.”

 

“Good.” Wilson nodded, still solemn. He hesitated a moment before adding, “But… you know, then… your disrespect in my office will still have to be dealt with.”

 

“Oh, come on!” House protested, and although his tone was mocking, there was a slight note of apprehension to his voice. “I had a _right_ to be angry! You admitted that yourself!”

 

“You did,” Wilson agreed with a single nod. “You _didn’t_ have the right to talk to me the way you did in front of Chase, regardless of how angry you were.”

 

He reached past House’s suddenly tense form to press the button to allow the elevator doors to open, then turned so that he stood side-by-side with House, not looking at him as he reiterated with firm authority.

 

“We’ll deal with it when we get home.”

 

The doors opened, and Wilson strode away before House could respond, leaving him to ponder what fate Wilson might devise for him in the wake of this most recent conflict.


	26. Respect

By the time they went home that evening, the unsettled, fluttering sensation in House’s stomach that had started when Wilson mentioned punishment had increased to a rather over-powering feeling of nausea. He was quiet and tense as he got into Wilson’s car and allowed him to drive home, barely speaking during the ten minute drive.

 

Wilson, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease.

 

His mood was cheerful and light, and he wasted no time in filling the silence between them with humorous remarks about other members of the hospital staff, and the most amusingly ignorant of the clinic patients he had seen during his shift that day. House was momentarily suspicious, but Wilson’s good humor seemed too genuine to be an act.

 

 _Is it possible that he’s forgotten? After all… I didn’t do anything wrong, anyway… not_ really. _Maybe he’s just decided to let it go this time…_

When they got home, House watched television in the living room while Wilson prepared a delicious meal of pasta and chicken and some kind of sauce that House was fairly certain he had invented himself. House even deigned to go so far as to offer a compliment at the end of the meal – or at least what passed for a compliment coming from him – as he set his fork down and leaned back contentedly in his chair.

 

“That… didn’t suck.”

 

Wilson quirked a single brow upward as he gave House a look over his last forkful of pasta. His tone was less than sincere when he replied.

 

“Thanks.”

 

House smirked at him as he rose from his chair and turned to leave the kitchen, intending to return to his comfortable seat on the sofa and more mindless entertainment.

 

“Just a second…”

 

House froze, his back to Wilson, as his stomach sank to somewhere around his knees. He closed his eyes, holding his breath as he waited for Wilson to continue.

 

“I cooked. It’s only fair for you to help clean up.”

 

House paused a moment, considering, before turning to face Wilson again, a bemused half-smile on his lips at Wilson’s implied command.

 

“I get it,” he remarked as he crossed the room toward the sink with an air of resigned acceptance, subtle amusement in his voice as he began to fill the sink with hot, soapy water. “This is awfully convenient for you, isn’t it? The only reason you initiated this unconventional relationship in the first place was in order to force me into involuntary servitude, isn’t it?”

 

Wilson smiled at House’s conclusions, shrugging slightly. “It’s the only way I’d ever get you to do your part around here, so what choice did I have?”

 

House picked up the dishes from in front of Wilson, then added his own to the stack, letting out a deep, shaky breath with relief that Wilson’s decision for his punishment had been so lenient. It made sense, he thought, considering how minor an offense he had committed; but still, Wilson was proving to be not nearly as intimidating as he might have liked to be.

 

House smirked, speaking over his shoulder as he dumped the entire load into the basin of hot water.

 

“Gotta say… your punishments aren’t all that original, Wilson.”

 

Almost immediately, House felt the heat of Wilson’s body pressing against him from behind, trapping him between Wilson and the sink; and a gentle but possessive hand closed lightly around his throat, drawing his head back slightly. House’s stomach lurched, his hands rising from the soapy water but not venturing far, merely hovering over the edge of the sink full of dishes as Wilson’s lowered voice, enticing and frightening at the same time, rumbled softly in his ear.

 

“Who said this was your punishment?”

 

House swallowed hard, feeling Wilson’s smile against his skin as he felt the motion of House’s throat under his hand. Realizing that Wilson had merely been waiting to catch him off guard – and had succeeded in doing just that – House said nothing. Wilson’s tone made it clear that there were no words he could offer to free himself from the consequences of his earlier defiance.

 

“Doing the dishes when I’ve cooked dinner is nothing more than your fair share,” Wilson reminded House softly, his free hand edging around House’s waist to rest splayed against his stomach. “When you’re finished… _then_ you’ll be punished.”

 

The subtle intimacy of Wilson’s touch made House’s heart beat accelerate, and his mouth go dry with mingled anticipation and fear. He closed his eyes for a moment as Wilson shifted closer to him, pulling House’s body gently back against him and allowing House to feel the pronounced bulge in the front of Wilson’s slacks, the evidence of just how much he was enjoying his own dominance – or perhaps, how much he was looking forward to House’s punishment.

 

Wilson’s voice was hushed as he instructed softly, “You will finish cleaning up the kitchen… and then, you will come into the living room for your punishment.” Wilson paused a moment, glancing over his shoulder at the rather minimal mess the two of them had left. “If it takes you any longer than thirty minutes to complete this chore, your punishment will be increased. Is that clear?”

 

House nodded slowly, able only to utter a single, choked syllable, barely over a whisper.

 

“Yes…”

 

 _Damn it_.

 

Wilson knew him too well to allow him to stall by taking as long as possible in the kitchen – a desperate plan that had occurred to House a moment before Wilson forbade it.

 

“Good.” Wilson abruptly released him, taking a step backward, leaving House leaning against the sink for support as he struggled to catch his breath. “I’ll be waiting.”

 

**************************

 

“This isn’t fair.”

 

House’s voice was low, subdued and sullen at the same time, as he stood in front of Wilson in the living room – exactly twenty-eight minutes after Wilson had left him in the kitchen.

 

“I didn’t really do anything wrong.”

 

“You agreed to this arrangement of ours,” Wilson reminded him gently, looking up to meet House’s eyes as he calmly rose to his feet. “And that means that you have to be respectful at all times; and if you’re not… you have to accept the consequences. It just… comes with the territory.” His voice softened as he added, “I told you I’ll be pushing your limits, House – and you’re not always going to like it. This is _punishment_ ; you’re not _supposed_ to like it. But, if it’s really too much for you… you can always use your safe word.”

 

House was silent, his eyes averted, biting the side of his lower lip as he struggled visibly with the decision. He tensed when Wilson edged nearer to him, placing gentle hands on his sides and tugging him closer, patiently waiting until House looked him in the eye to speak again.

 

“But… I’m pretty sure you can take a lot more than what I have planned for you tonight. I’m pretty sure you can take a lot more than you _think_ you can.” His hand trailed down from House’s side to his hip, and around to trace idly along the waist of House’s jeans. His voice was quietly enticing as he dropped his gaze and concluded slowly, “It all comes down to… how much do you trust me?”

 

House was quiet, swallowing hard, his head lowered. Finally, he let out a soft sigh.

 

“I trust you,” he admitted quietly.

 

Wilson’s dark eyes shone with relief, his shoulders falling slightly. “Then… you’re ready to accept your punishment?”

 

House nodded, not speaking.

 

Wilson raised a hand to the back of House’s neck, pulling him down into an impulsive, grateful kiss, before withdrawing slowly. His smile faded as he squared his shoulders and took a step back, allowing his hands to fall from House’s body, and leaving House feeling strangely bereft of his touch. Wilson’s voice hardened, taking on a commanding tone.

 

“I’m going to leave the room for a minute. While I’m gone, you’re going to take off all your clothes and wait for me here.”

 

House hesitated before nodding once, his eyes downcast.

 

Wilson made his way into their bedroom, going to the locked bottom drawer of the dresser where he kept various toys and other items integral to their new lifestyle. He gathered the things he needed, then made his way back out into the living room.

 

House was standing, facing the bedroom door with his hands clasped in front of him in a weak attempt to maintain some semblance of modesty in spite of his nakedness. His face was flushed with embarrassment, and everything about his posture spoke of uncertainty and self-consciousness. Wilson walked to his side, pausing to lay down his supplies on the sofa, only keeping one item in his hand as he closed the distance between them.

 

House drew away in alarm when Wilson raised a soft, padded blindfold toward his face.

 

“No…”

 

“House.” Wilson’s voice was sharp. “That’s not an option. Be still.”

 

House hesitated, his tension visible in the taut muscles of his athletic frame, before he finally surrendered with a sigh of resignation, relaxing slightly and shifting almost imperceptibly toward Wilson.

 

“Fine,” he muttered. “Get it over with.”

 

Wilson smiled as he tied the blindfold securely over House’s eyes, trailing a reassuring hand down his side in a gentle caress.

 

“Good…”

 

He murmured his approval as he walked to the couch to retrieve a pair of steel handcuffs, lined in soft cloth padding to prevent the restraint from being painful. Wilson took House’s hands and guided them gently behind his back before moving around to stand behind him and locking them firmly into the cuffs. House tensed slightly, his hands balled into tight, trembling fists, but he did not utter a word of protest.

 

“Very good…”

 

Wilson praised him softly, his hands trailing up from House’s bound wrists to rest on his shoulders, guiding him back a few steps so that he was standing beside the sofa before leaning in to issue a quiet command.

 

“Now… get on your knees.”

 

“No. Don’t think so.”

 

House protested, shaking his head and pulling slightly away from Wilson. Wilson caught his arm and pulled him back again, his voice like silken steel in House’s ear as his grip tightened and his free arm slid around House’s waist in a possessive, restraining gesture.

 

“You will do as you’re told, House. You will _not_ refuse to obey me. And you will _get_ on your _knees… now_.”

 

House was trembling, clearly apprehensive and very reluctant – but after a moment, he nodded slightly, relaxing a little within Wilson’s grasp. Wilson drew back a little, his patient hands carefully steadying House as he awkwardly knelt on the floor.

 

“Good,” Wilson murmured, slightly distracted. “You’re doing good…”

 

“Yeah, I’d bet you think so,” House muttered in response, and Wilson knew he was rolling his eyes behind the blindfold. “This is your fantasy, isn’t it? Me on my knees and at your mercy…”

 

“We’ve already established that,” Wilson conceded, a trace of amusement in his voice. “But that’s beside the point.” His tone hardened as he continued without hesitation, “And until I tell you otherwise, there is only one word you’re allowed to say, and only if you have to. Do you understand?”

 

House bit his lip, and Wilson could see the inner battle he was waging with his pride; but he finally nodded once, silently submitting to Wilson’s orders. Wilson’s satisfied smile faded slightly as he moved to stand in front of House, and House flinched slightly at the motion, his breath catching softly in his throat as he tensed, steeling himself for whatever Wilson intended to do to him.

 

Wilson knelt in front of House, bringing himself down to the same level as his lover, reaching out his hands to rest lightly on House’s legs, just above his knees in a gesture of reassurance. Troubled by the slight tremor he felt under his hands, Wilson stroked his hands gently back and forth, careful not to venture too near House’s damaged thigh.

 

“Shhh,” Wilson soothed House gently, his voice low and filled with tender sympathy. “Relax. Remember – I’m not going to hurt you. Okay? I promise I’m not going to hurt you…”

 

House nodded slightly, swallowing hard… but he did seem to relax a bit at those comforting words. Keeping one steadying hand on House’s left leg, Wilson leaned in closer and turned his attention on House’s exposed cock – which he was gratified to notice was half-hard already. Despite House’s apprehensions, he was nevertheless clearly aroused by the position in which he had found himself.

 

House bit back a startled gasp when he felt Wilson’s hand on his groin, slowly stroking idle circles around the head of his forming erection. His breath quickened, hitching slightly, but he did not speak or cry out at all. His trembling intensified slightly, but Wilson was fairly certain it was not a response of fear. He continued his gentle, teasing touches, alternating between even, steady strokes to House’s cock, and light, tickling brushes against his balls.

 

Within minutes, House was fully hard.

 

His breathing had become ragged and uneven, and he was thrusting slightly forward into Wilson’s touch, despite his obvious efforts to keep still. Wilson’s low, throaty chuckle of self-satisfaction made House’s face flush with embarrassment – but even that embarrassment was somehow exciting, adding to his arousal. When Wilson abruptly withdrew his hand, House couldn’t hold back a strangled whimper of frustration. Before he could stop himself, he had breathed out a desperate whisper.

 

“ _Please_ …”

 

Immediately, Wilson’s hand caught a fistful of his hair, jerking his head back. Blindfolded and bound, fully exposed and at Wilson’s mercy, House felt intensely vulnerable as Wilson leaned down to speak in a voice of soft, cool authority in his ear.

 

“ _Shut. Up_.”

 

Wilson released him, and House could hear his footsteps moving away, though he did not go far. The sounds of rustling leather and metal on the sofa drew House’s interest, but he barely had time to wonder what Wilson was doing before Wilson had returned, kneeling in front of him again.

 

House bit back a moan when he felt something smooth and flexible – leather, probably – wrapping around the base of his erection; then gasped in alarm when the strap was cinched tight. He felt Wilson’s hands hovering around it, fastening it into place, and his heart sank when he heard the sound of Wilson rising to his feet once more.

 

 _Surely he wouldn’t just… he can’t just_ leave _me like this… and… for how long does he think he’s going to…?_

In a possessive, dominant gesture, Wilson’s hand fell to rest at the back of House’s neck as he spoke with soft certainty.

 

“You will learn to show respect and to do as you’re told, House. Your pleasure… your pain… is in _my_ hands. And _I_ will decide when you get either.”

 

He said nothing else, his quiet words punctuated by the soft sound of his footsteps walking away.


	27. Suffering

House struggled against the impulse to protest as he listened to the sounds of Wilson moving around the living room, but never coming near him. He wanted to yell and curse and threaten – to use every intimidating weapon in his arsenal to express his frustration and make Wilson finish what he had started.

 

But he knew better. _He_ was the one bound and blindfolded and on his knees, utterly helpless – not Wilson. No, Wilson was the one in control of this situation – and that meant that it was probably not a good idea to deliberately piss him off.

 

He shifted uneasily on his knees, swallowing hard, his mouth dry with apprehension. He wasn’t allowed to ask questions, but his mind was filled with uncertain speculations as to Wilson’s intentions. He had only been kneeling for a couple of minutes, but he had no idea how long Wilson planned to make him stay there.

 

 _He won’t let me say anything, but… if he makes me stay like this too long… my leg’s not going to like it… but… he promised he wouldn’t do anything to… to hurt my leg… wouldn’t use that against me… so this would count, right? This would fit under that category…_

House opened his mouth slightly, on the verge of reminding Wilson of his promise, regardless of Wilson’s command to silence – when he suddenly felt the heat of Wilson’s body crouched behind him, and a strong arm wrapped around his waist, drawing him back against Wilson’s chest.

 

House drew in a sharp breath of instinctive alarm at the feeling of suddenly being off balance, losing control as Wilson took it from him; but he did not pull away, did not say a word, struggling against his impulse to resist. Wilson’s warm hand stroked slowly down the taut, trembling muscles of House’s arm in a soothing gesture before rising to run through his hair, tugging his head gently backward to rest on Wilson’s shoulder.

 

“Shhh,” Wilson murmured, and House allowed himself to take reassurance from the gentleness of his tone. “It’s all right… calm down.” Wilson was quiet for a moment, allowing House to adjust, before asking softly, “How’s your leg feel?”

 

House hesitated, remembering Wilson’s earlier command to silence. He swallowed hard, his lips parted, but not making a sound.

 

“If I ask you a question, you’re allowed – _required_ , even – to answer. Okay?”

 

House nodded slowly, silently grateful for the clarification.

 

“How’s your leg?”

 

“Fine,” House whispered, barely trusting his voice to speak. “For the moment…”

 

House could feel the tense hesitation in Wilson’s body behind him, heard it in his voice when he spoke in an even tone of quiet authority touched with affectionate concern.

 

“If your leg starts to bother you, you can speak up and tell me so. All right? You can speak for that reason. I… don’t want you to be in pain. Okay?”

 

House nodded again, his shoulders sagging slightly with relief. Wilson seemed equally relieved by his reaction, and House felt a soft shudder pass through Wilson’s body as he let out a deep, shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Wilson’s strong hands drew House closer, and House felt a shiver go down his spine at the sensation of warm breath against his ear.

 

“Not that I think it’ll be an issue,” Wilson whispered, and House felt his slow smirk. “I plan to keep you too distracted to even _think_ about your leg for a while.”

 

House gasped sharply as Wilson’s hand trailed down from his waist to play teasing fingertips through the coarse hair surrounding his trapped cock and balls, then lowered to palm the straining organ. The leather strap with which Wilson had bound him prevented him from finding any release – but it certainly did not prevent him from being driven mad with desperation for that release.

 

 _Which is obviously the point. Bastard._

 

House bit back a groan, unwilling to show Wilson just how much he was getting to him, as Wilson’s fingers began stroking in teasing circles, gradually deepening in intensity. Despite his best efforts, however, House couldn’t prevent the instinctive forward motion of his hips, rocking slightly into Wilson’s touch.

 

Wilson followed the motion of House’s body, drawing his hand away just enough to prevent House from managing the increased stimulation he was trying for. House felt his face flush with mingled shame and arousal at the sound of Wilson’s low chuckle of satisfaction in his ear. Frustrated, House swore softly under his breath, thrusting forward once more almost frantically as Wilson withdrew his hand completely.

 

“You’re a freakin’ cock tease, you know that?” he spat out in frustration before he could stop himself.

 

Wilson just laughed as he moved back, bracing House’s back against the side of the sofa and moving around to kneel in front of him. A firm hand at the back of House’s head drew him forward so that Wilson could whisper in a hushed, secretive voice next to his ear.

 

“That’s… sort of the point.”

 

A sharp pinch of finger and thumb on the sensitive skin beneath House’s aching erection had him choking back a whimper of mingled pain and desperate desire, and Wilson’s hand tightened in his hair, his voice hardening suddenly.

 

“And keep your mouth _shut_ , House. Do you understand me?”

 

House nodded frantically, his teeth biting into his lower lip in an effort to obey, his head falling back and his breath quickening as Wilson began stroking him again, alternating light touches with deeper strokes designed to drive him to the brink of madness, but never allowing him to fall over the edge.

 

House’s entire body was trembling, taut with tension and frustration, as Wilson continued toying with him, slowing his strokes, taking his time and drawing out the torment. Just when House was certain that he couldn’t stand it another moment, and he wanted Wilson to just _stop_ – Wilson did.

 

And House immediately realized that was not what he wanted at all.

 

“Wow,” Wilson whispered as he rose to his feet in front of House, and House could hear the smirk in his voice. “This is really… _frustrating_ , isn’t it?” House heard his footsteps crossing the floor, headed toward the bathroom, and indignation began to rise within him as he understood what Wilson intended. “I’ll be right back once I take care of this little problem of mine.” He paused before adding with wicked amusement, “Don’t you wish _you_ could?”

 

House bit back a choked whimper of need and disappointment as he heard Wilson move away a few steps more, and then heard the swing of the bathroom door opening and closing.

 

Interminable minutes passed while House simply knelt there in helpless desperation, unable to do anything about his nearly frantic state of arousal – and unable to think about anything else. He considered turning toward the sofa, trying to rub himself against it to get some kind of relief – but the thought of Wilson returning to the room and catching him brought a hot rush of blood to his face.

 

Despite his need, he was fairly certain that the humiliation would not be worth it.

 

House tensed with impatient anticipation when he heard the bathroom door opening again, followed by slow, even footsteps as Wilson headed toward him again. He could barely make out the sound of a soft, smug chuckle past the sound of creaking leather as Wilson sat down on the sofa – _way_ too far away from him. He wanted to demand that Wilson come back, to at least ask what the _hell_ he thought he was doing… but he didn’t dare.

 

Frustration mingled with irritation of a different kind when House heard the television come on, and realized with a sense of outrage that Wilson actually meant to _leave_ him like this for some undetermined period of time. Anger battled self-preservation, House’s mind waging war with his mouth, as he kept silently reminding himself that disobeying Wilson’s orders would only result in further punishment.

 

In the end, as usual – House’s mouth won the battle.

 

“Okay, now, _this_ is just ridiculous. You can’t possibly mean to convince me that the company of your own hand is a suitable substitute for the tight, hot friction of sticking your aching cock up my…”

 

“ _Prescription: Passion_. You’ve seen all these episodes, right? Don’t need them cluttering up your Tivo anymore?”

 

House’s voice was low, his words slow and menacing. “Don’t you freakin’ dare…”

 

“Oops. Buh-bye. What about the Miss America Pageant from last night? I’m sure you’ve already watched it – at least the good parts…”

 

“No fair!” House whined. “I’ll let you tie me up and tease me senseless and make me kneel at your feet and all that, but don’t _touch_ my tv shows…!”

 

“I’ll touch whatever I _want_ to touch, House.” There was a dangerous note to Wilson’s quiet, calm voice as he turned the television off with a dismissive, “So much for the swimsuit competition. You’d only have watched twenty minutes out of the whole show, anyway, right?”

 

House felt an apprehensive shiver run through him as he heard Wilson rise from the couch and move toward him again. Wilson’s hand came to rest in his hair, stroking gently in a possessive gesture of affection. House waited in tense silence for Wilson’s reaction to his disobedience, well aware that it _was_ coming.

 

He didn’t have long to wait.

 

Wilson jerked his head back, leaning in close and speaking in a frighteningly calm voice.

 

“If you don’t learn to control that mouth of yours, House… you’re going to be spending an awful lot of time on your knees.”

 

House’s stomach lurched and his mouth went dry as Wilson crouched in front of him, pulling him close with one hand in his hair and the other tightly gripping his arm. House tensed but did not pull away as Wilson continued in a softly warning tone.

 

“Have you enjoyed the last thirty minutes or so, House?” He paused, though it was clear that he was not actually waiting for an answer. “Would you enjoy another few hours? Maybe I should make you wait all night. Would you like that, House?”

 

A faint tremor shook through House’s shoulders, and he shook his head slowly, his blinded eyes carefully turned toward the floor. A convulsive swallow was visible in his throat, but he did not speak. Wilson was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke again, his tone was softer, almost regretful, and House knew that he had realized the unintentional implications of his threat.

 

“How’s your leg?” he asked gently.

 

“Still… still fine,” House replied, his voice quiet and subdued. “For now.”

 

The mere question was a comfort, reminding him that at any point he needed to, he could let Wilson know if he was in pain, and be permitted relief. Truthfully, his thigh was beginning to feel the strain of maintaining the same position for so long, but it wasn’t actually painful yet; and simply knowing that he _could_ say something if he _needed_ to was enough for House – for the moment.

 

“I wouldn’t make you kneel here all night,” Wilson reassured him, amending his earlier words. “I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about… your _other_ problem.” A faint note of humor was audible in his voice with those words. “And I don’t think that idea’s any more pleasant for you, is it?”

 

House’s trembling had ceased, as he was somewhat comforted by Wilson’s explanation. He shook his head again in response, calmer now that the worst of his fears had been abated.

 

However, the hard note to Wilson’s voice when he continued made House’s heart sink.

 

“However… punishment isn’t _supposed_ to be pleasant. You’re not supposed to like it. I think that was my problem the last time; I made you enjoy it too much. Hopefully, this won’t be an experience you’ll be eager to repeat.”

 

House heard him move away again, and then the faint rustling sound that told him Wilson was once again searching through the assortment of supplies he had brought from the bedroom. He returned and knelt behind House, grasping one wrist and holding his hand up slightly.

 

“Make a fist.”

 

House frowned, puzzled and wary, but obedient. He felt the brush of soft but unyielding leather against his clenched fist, enclosing it, and felt the wrist cinched firmly but not so tightly as to cut off his circulation. Wilson repeated the curious procedure with his other hand before unlocking the handcuffs and allowing House to bring his hands around in front of him. He then removed the blindfold so that House could see what he had done.

 

House stared down with wide, stunned eyes at the black leather bondage gloves, fingerless and buckled at his wrists so as to hold his hands in fists until they were removed – and therefore preventing him from using them.

 

Wilson smiled when House looked up at him with questioning eyes.

 

“I don’t want to have to worry about making sure you’re not trying to take off that cock ring all night. I needed to make sure you can’t unfasten it, and I don’t want to be up all night, but I don’t want to have to tie you down all night, either. I figured this way would be easiest for both of us.”

 

House clearly had his doubts – not that he could do anything about it at that point.

 

Wilson placed a gentle hand under House’s elbow, carefully helping him to his feet and leading him toward the bedroom as he continued explaining the punishment on which he had decided.

 

“You’re going to go all night without relief – and in the morning, I’m not going to touch you. You can get yourself off in the bathroom like I had to,” Wilson informed him matter-of-factly. “Before you start thinking that I’m _completely_ uncaring… I _did_ consider the fact that you probably won’t rest well tonight. But then – you’ve functioned at work while impaired by a lot worse than a few hours short on sleep.”

 

He left House at his side of the bed after pulling back the blankets for him, and then moved to the dresser to change for the night. House wasn’t sure if he was allowed to speak at this point, and Wilson had not made it clear, so he remained silent while Wilson got ready to go to sleep and crossed the room to get into the bed beside him.

 

As Wilson drew the blankets over them, settling down with a casual arm across House’s chest, and House resigned himself to the rather restless night he had ahead of him, he found himself thinking that perhaps Wilson was finally getting the hang of this punishment thing.


	28. Relief

Wilson gradually became aware of soft, warm pressure on his bare chest, moving upward in a slow, sensual caress. He was tired and reluctant to leave sleep for the demands of another day, but the soft, teasing kisses – because he was vaguely aware by this point that he was being kissed – were becoming incentive enough to awaken.

 

He let out a soft murmur, his hands instinctively rising to pull his lover closer to him, running listlessly over the familiar swells and planes of House’s shoulders and arms. He didn’t open his eyes, simply allowed himself to feel the heat of House’s mouth as it closed over one of his bare nipples, teeth closing lightly before moving upward toward his throat.

 

A groan escaped his lips as a tender kiss intensified until House was sucking on his throat, and Wilson knew that there would be a bruise later. He let out a little growl of mild irritation, both at the fact that he would have to be careful to hide the mark at work today – and at the fact that he was being distracted by such unpleasant thoughts as work at all.

 

 _Not yet… just want to stay here… a little longer…_

 

As House’s lips momentarily left his skin, Wilson tipped his head downward, somehow managing to capture House’s mouth with his own blindly, by sheer instinct. House laughed, low and rumbling and infectious, against his mouth, and Wilson couldn’t keep from smiling. Finally, he allowed his eyes to drift open to take in the sight of House, grinning down at him with a sense of satisfaction, but also with an eager hunger in his eyes.

 

A slave to his routine and responsibilities, almost against his will Wilson turned his head to glance at his alarm clock on the nightstand. He was pleased and relieved to see that it had not yet gone off at all, as it was still more than an hour before he needed to get up.

 

“We’ve got plenty of time,” House reassured him, his sleep-graveled voice drawing Wilson’s attention back to his face. “You can screw me senseless without having to sacrifice your flawless reputation of anal-retentive dependability.”

 

“Mmmm, sounds good,” Wilson murmured as House began a trail of kisses from his jaw down to his throat again. “Yeah… we’ve got time…”

 

Wilson ran his hands slowly down from House’s shoulders, tracing the length of his arms where they braced him on either side of Wilson’s body so that he was hovering over the younger man. As he neared House’s hands, however, House abruptly jerked one hand away, throwing himself off balance in his haste and causing him to drop down so that his full weight was resting on Wilson’s body.

 

Wilson frowned, puzzled, letting out a surprised laugh as his hand automatically continued past House’s wrist; and suddenly, all at once, he remembered and understood, as his fingertips encountered the feeling of smooth leather – the bondage gloves in which he had restrained House’s hands the night before.

 

Wilson’s smile became a disapproving glare as he gave House a gentle but firm push over onto his back beside him. He let out a soft groan of frustration, raising his hands to push against his eyes as he sighed heavily.

 

“Great. Just great.”

 

“You know… you don’t _have_ to go to work all hot and bothered and frustrated. You _do_ have options here,” House reminded him, his voice taking on a slightly wheedling note of desperation.

 

“Yes, I do,” Wilson acknowledged, turning his head to meet House’s eyes. “But _you_ don’t. I’m not backing up on that, House. So… you’ve really succeeded in nothing with your little trick, except I’d imagine to make things even _harder_ on yourself than they already are.” Wilson allowed himself a little smirk, but did not otherwise call attention to his unintentional pun.

 

“Oh, I think I’ve accomplished a little more than that,” House argued with a smug laugh as Wilson got out of bed. “I’ve definitely succeeded.”

 

But Wilson could hear the strained tremor in his voice, knew that he was merely attempting to cover his own desperation. Wilson knew that House would not have made his ploy to get Wilson to relent if he was not nearly frantic with need by this point.

 

 _Well, congratulations, House. You’ve just ensured that you’ll have to wait just a little bit longer._

 

“Shut up,” Wilson grumbled, albeit good-naturedly, as he stumbled toward the bathroom to take care of the problem with which House’s attentions had left him.

 

“Hey, Wilson,” House called after him just as he reached the hallway. “Did you _really_ erase my Tivo?”

 

Wilson peeked his head around the door for a moment, giving House a ruefully indulgent smile. “No, House,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t do that.” He paused before adding, “ _I_ haven’t seen the Miss America pageant yet, either.”

 

******************************

 

Both irritated and amused by House’s predicament, and the lengths it had driven him to in order to have it relieved, Wilson decided to take his time in the bathroom. After all, it was called _punishment_ for a reason, wasn’t it? House had already waited all night; it wouldn’t kill him to wait another twenty minutes or so.

 

Wilson turned on the shower, adjusting the water until it was perfect, then undressed and stepped into the steamy spray. He stood there a few minutes, allowing the pounding heat to ease some of the tension in his muscles as he washed his body, before finally closing his eyes and reaching with one soap-slippery hand to encircle the aching erection House had given him.

 

His head fell back, his breath quickening as he allowed images from the night before to play over and over in his head.

 

It was true, he _was_ doing this for House – the whole dominant/submissive arrangement – but he was definitely getting something out of it as well. He didn’t want to admit to House exactly how much he enjoyed the sight of House on his knees, blindfolded, bound… helpless… utterly at Wilson’s mercy.

 

He remembered House’s awkward submission, as well as his defiance, and the struggle he’d waged to bring House back under control – the feeling of House’s heated skin, faintly trembling under his touch – the soft sounds of muffled frustration House had made as he struggled to remain obediently silent as Wilson stroked him slowly to a torturous state of arousal…

 

… the same state he was still in at this moment, waiting helplessly in the other room for Wilson to grant him his release…

 

And Wilson found his own release at that thought, choking back a guttural sound of pleasure and relief as his frustration eased. He finished cleaning himself off and got out of the shower, wrapping a soft towel around his waist before returning to the bedroom.

 

House was sitting on the side of the bed, his arms crossed impatiently over his chest, staring at the small television screen across the room while he waited for Wilson to return. As Wilson stepped into the bedroom, House turned to look at him with a smirk, a single knowing brow raised.

 

“Feel better?”

 

“Better than _you_.”

 

Wilson retorted with a smirk of his own as he approached House, who automatically turned toward him, eager to be free of the punishment inflicted upon him. Wilson took his hands and raised them in his own, unabashedly leering down at House’s bound, engorged erection, clearly enjoying the sight.

 

“Come on,” House muttered irritably, his face flushing with embarrassment. “Get on with it.”

 

Wilson raised his eyes to meet House’s impatient gaze, his own eyebrows raising dubiously. “Should I?” he said pointedly, his tone exaggeratedly thoughtful. “Have you learned _anything_ from all this?”

 

House’s brow furrowed in an anxious frown, and his subdued voice held a note of panic as he quickly adjusted. “Sorry,” he said softly. “Wilson… _please_ …”

 

As he whispered the last word, he glanced up at Wilson through wide, somehow innocent eyes – and Wilson swallowed hard as the intensity and submission in that piercing gaze went straight to his groin, threatening to renew the problem he’d just taken care of. His voice shook slightly as he responded.

 

“That’s better.”

 

He focused his eyes studiously on the right glove, unbuckling it swiftly with trembling fingers, deliberately not meeting House’s eyes again – and therefore missing the hint of smug amusement on House’s face at the desired result brought about by his deliberately sultry expression. Wilson removed both gloves and set them aside, then stepped away so that House could stand up and move past him into the bathroom.

 

*******************************

 

House’s hands were trembling almost too hard to unfasten the tiny buckle on the leather strap that bound him, and he cursed under his breath in frustration before finally wrestling the device into submission. By this point his throbbing cock was nearly purple, his balls heavy and taut with the depth of his need.

 

He stepped into the shower, the air around him still warm and damp with the remnants of the steam from Wilson’s shower. He turned on the water, allowing the heat to pour down over his back as he hurriedly, roughly fisted his erection, his hand shaking slightly as it pumped quickly up and down.

 

His mind was on the night before as well, though there was little visual stimulation in his memories. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, focusing on the memory of Wilson’s commanding voice, demanding from him levels of submission he hadn’t thought himself capable of giving – Wilson’s strong hands leaving trails of icy flame as they trailed over his over-sensitized skin – Wilson bringing him to the brink of release, then leaving him on the edge, desperate and all but begging for just a little more contact, just a little more… just a little more…

 

Within a few brief minutes, House found the release that had been withheld from him, biting back a hoarse moan of relief as his spendings washed down the drain with the hot water that flowed over him. He leaned back against the wall, weak and shaking with the force of his orgasm, gasping for breath, while the tantalizing images still played over in his mind.

 

He frowned slightly as he opened his eyes, wondering what it said about him that he was so turned on by the idea of being dominated by Wilson, surrendering the control to which he clung so tightly in every other area of his life. It was frightening and unsettling, but also exhilarating and exciting and… a little bit of a relief… to give up and let his walls down, and let someone else call the shots for a change.

 

True, it was terrifying. He had been wary and anxious and on edge the night before, a large part of him wondering whether or not Wilson might take advantage of the power House had yielded to him and use it against him.

 

But…he hadn’t.

 

Wilson had asked House for his trust, asked him to surrender control and believe that Wilson would not hurt him – and then, he had proven himself worthy of that trust. House’s walls had been in place for a long time, and he knew that it would be a long time coming, if it was possible at all, for him to reach a place where his fears were gone for good; but with every test that Wilson passed, it was becoming easier to lay them aside and lose himself in the blissful relief of surrender.

 

 _Maybe…_ finally _… I think this just might work…_


End file.
